


Gimme Shelter

by SpiffytheSpook



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Abduction, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Drama, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Torture, In-Laws, Kidnapping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, No Smut, Nudity, Orgasm Control, Past physical abuse, Physical Abuse, Plot, Rimming, Scheming, Slurs, Touch-Starved, Verbal Abuse, and not precisely consensual, and not the musical kind, and the rest of the fic is unlikely to have more content like so, idk what else to tag. basically there's sex in chapter 6 but there's not a whole lot, more nudity, more or less, not yet anyway. if there was it'd be awkward, physical affection supplied as a necessity, uhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-05-18 07:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19329892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiffytheSpook/pseuds/SpiffytheSpook
Summary: Lester's ex decides to take a hit out on him for grudge purposes. Raze is the hitman, but he's sick of being bossed around by his dad (Lester's ex.) He kidnaps the guy instead, and leaves him in the capable hands of a very nervous (and a wee bit Lester-obsessed) Glass.How long can the most psychotic and skilled human assassin in the world, a racist shapeshifting mutant dictator, and a paranoid bloodlusty criminal-for-hire get along?Who knows? Let's find out.





	1. Rebellion by Abduction

**Author's Note:**

> Without context this may not make sense. That's okay. I'm mostly writing to get it off my mind.  
> And hey, if you enjoy it? Great! If you have questions, leave them in the comments.

_Autumn in New York, It lifts you up when you're let down_  
_Jaded roues and gay divorces who lunch_  
_at the Ritz  
_ _will tell you that it's divine_

_\- Billie Holiday, Autumn in New York_

 

A bright white, toothy grin was the first thing Lester saw when he woke up. That grin was set in a familiar, rather angular and blue face. Solid yellow eyes and a shock of bright red hair stood glaringly out in contrast.

“Ya freaky shithead,” he groaned, stretching…as much as he could. A brief tug told him that his hands were bound high above his head. Likely, he’d been hanging loosely from his wrists while unconscious – hence the pain and slight numbness. Feet were on a chain connected to the cement floor…and he had a throbbing headache.

A quick trip down recent memory lane, and he recalled that the little fucker had seemingly materialized out of nowhere and bashed his head from behind.

Same little fucker laughed and patted his cheek lightly. “Nice to see you, too. I’d offer an Advil, but who the fuck knows what that’ll do to you with whatever other drugs you’re on.”

Lester lifted himself by his wrists to roll his shoulders, then released back onto his feet. Nice of the kid to place the chains so he could stand properly. He’d suspect kinky shit, but he was fully clothed and Raze was a _coward_ when it came to pissing off Daken. “What’s the game, ‘Flake? We gonna play tea party?”

Raze laughed and shook his head. He walked around Lester, grabbed a chair, and dragged it across the cement until it was six feet in front of the bound man. He made himself comfortable, sprawling back unceremoniously. “We gotta problem. I’m supposed to kill you. Guess who wants it done?”

“Fuck if I know, ‘Flake. You’re boring me,” Lester retorted, rolling his eyes. He had his suspicions, of course, but he wasn’t going to bother when Raze was obviously keen to relay the info. Instead of wasting his time, he took a good look around the room. Poorly lit, unfinished walls, stairs, exposed plumbing, but still a large space. Basement of a non-residential property. Muggy scent to it. Could be a damp, dingy place like New York, or it could just be poor upkeep. Would all depend on how long he was out.

“Aw, c’mon. Play along!” Raze fake-pouted.

He sighed in response, eyes settling back on the shapeshifter. “I don’t give a shit who you’re taking marching orders from.” The kid liked to pretend he was independent, like he didn’t serve as bitch to his mom, or Daken, or whoever came along and offered him scraps and ear-scritches-

Raze _saw_ when Lester connected the dots. A mask of apathy settled over his expression, though the sudden interest was still obvious in his eyes. His own smirk straightened out a bit, eyes hard. A moment of _understanding_ passed between them.

“Yeah. Your ex, the other _god_. Nice guy, right? What a catch.”

Lester’s lip curled and he ignored the throbbing, stinging feeling in his ~~chest~~ gut. He wasn’t exactly surprised – Daken’s hatred was as strong the obsession ~~and love~~ that had tangled them together. His grudges were as bad as his manipulation. He’d expected the man to kill him, or at least try…

But this? This wasn’t trying. Daken sending his pipsqueak brother was an _insult_ , a spurn, as if Lester wasn’t worth the time to do in properly. Left a bitter taste in Lester’s mouth.

“Playin’ with your food then? Or is the plan to bore me to death?” he broke the silence with smooth humor, seemingly unaffected by the new information.

“Hah, funny,” Raze snorted. “Nah, I’ve got no intentions of killin’ you, or I would’ve shot you and delivered your head in a box by now.”

“Oh joy.”

“I’ve got respect for you, even though you’re a human. You’re a badass, and you’ve made your own name. The bondage was in case you flew off the rails – but you like bondage, right?” he added with a fresh grin.

Lester chuckled and rolled his eyes. One of these days he’d return the favor and capture _Raze._ He’d spend a few sweet hours flaying the ugly blue skin off the mutant…over and over and over again. He could carve that sneer right off the kid’s face. Still, he was amused by the whole situation, and not _overly_ bored. “Suuuure. One of my favorite things~” he hummed, swaying a bit in the chains. He shifted on his feet and the light-hearted aura about him faded, eyes suddenly cold and curious. “What’s the deal, Flake? Did big bro not feed you enough dick this week?”

Raze took a turn rolling his eyes. “I’ve been thinking, actually-“

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Shut up, fucker,” he spat back, mildly perturbed.

“Nah. You set yourself up for that one.”

“…whatever. I’m gonna be blunt-“

“Y’mean exactly how you always are?” Lester interrupted again with a grin, promptly moving on to hum another tune.

Raze stared at him a moment, getting himself under control. He smirked back, accepting the humor of the exchange. He could take the jabs to remind him to cut unnecessary language from his talk. “Did Daken tell you he’s my bio dad?”

The humming stopped as abruptly as it started. “Bullshit.”

“I got the paternity test done to prove it.”

A cruel, wide grin spread slowly across his face. “Fucker didn’t say a _word_. Guess he’s not too keen on recognizing a failure for a son, huh?”

The shifter was easier to read than the oversized font books they give to old people. Lester watched with morbid curiosity and that permanent grin, as Raze rubbed the fingertips of one hand together, clenched it into a fist, and tried not to let his expression change. The rage was written _all over_ him.

“Aw, poor wittle snowflake,” Lester pouted, mirth in his eyes. Before he could continue, Raze cut in with a remarkably calm tone.

“You remember when you turned on your Da?”

Tension struck up thick between them, then…tension far beyond a bit of teasing and some rage. Raze was stepping on treacherous ground. Lester scowled. Raze seethed back.

 _“Mine_ won’t just die in a fire. I’d be stupid to try killing him. But like you, I’m not gonna be daddy’s _bitch_ anymore. So you’re in luck, Lester. You get to live.”

Silence reigned supreme. Lester was _irritated_ …but the feeling was all mixed. Stupid shithead freak was messing him up. Raze just watched for a reaction before he continued chatting.

“I _like_ you. I _don’t_ like that he’s treated you like a piece of shit. He used and _left_ you. Now, don’t mistake this for sympathy, ‘cause I sure as fuck don’t feel sorry for y-“

“You’d better not, you fucking freak-“ Lester retorted, quaking with anger from the mere mention of that idea.

“I don’t,” Raze responded sharply. He unfolded his legs and leaned forward with elbows on his knees. “I just don’t wanna be used, and you happen to be the current target he’d like to point me against.”

Lester ground his teeth together despite a throbbing headache. He tugged absently on the chains from which he hung. He wanted to slam the freak’s face into the cement, cut him up, peel away skin and muscle to expose bone, and stab a knife right down his throat. But. He could play along for a bit – nothing was pressing on his time. “Let’s get one thing straight, Flake- nobody fucking _used_ me. Got that?”

The shifter relented easily enough. “Got it.”

The ease gave Lester pause, but he nodded. “So what’s the plan? You’re a perv and a faggot – gonna leave me all pinned and vulnerable?” His mood changed again, humor in his tone, a seductive pout paired with puppy eyes. Dead, cold, wide eyes that might unsettle a normal person.

Raze didn’t respond to any of it. Killjoy.

“Well, we’ve got three options. I can sever a limb as ‘proof’ you’re dead. Which I’m obviously unwilling to do because as previously stated, I respect you. Plus, you’ve got nice limbs. He’d probably only accept your head, anyway.” Raze grimaced. He wouldn’t put it past Daken to defile his ex’s head, though he'd like to believe the guy had a little more class. “I can let go of you if you promise to stay low and off his radar for six months. _Or,_ I can drop you off to a babysitter for at least that span of time. Pick your poison.”

“Well gee. Freedom sounds nice,” Lester responded in monotone, not expecting that he had any say in the manner. Raze’s _modus operendi_ was pretty clear by now – non-con carry through of whatever his plan was.

Raze smirked like it wasn’t obvious what he’d say next. “Yeah, it does. But I’m gonna drop you with Glass instead. Already sent over your meds and clothes.”

Now, _that,_ he hadn’t expected. Lester grinned. “Heh. The little Missy, huh? Bet she’s _thrilled.”_

“She’s _pissed._ I’m gonna haveta make sure she doesn’t stab you in your sleep. Fuckin’ crazy piece of shit.”

Lester chuckled like he knew something Raze didn’t. He clearly _did._ The shifter watched, dumbstruck – suited his dumb _face_ – but didn’t ask.

“I’ll check in and make sure she doesn’t crack the rest of the way, and that you don’t starve. I’m not talkin’ food, though. She has enough food to go around,” he said, a little, mocking smile on his lips.

The human’s expression darkened tenfold and he tensed. “You fuckin’ rat to _anybody_ and you’ll be roadkill, Raze. _SQUOOSH._ A nice flat red’n’blue stain for crows to pick at.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Don’t waste your breath. ‘Sides. We’re all _starving._ Especially her…just not for touch so much as something else~” his grin faded to a more serious expression with a tone to match. “In case you haven’t put it together yet, we’re already in New York. You slept pretty well on the flight. _Somebody_ doesn’t like her location known-“

“Too late, Flake. Already know it.”

Raze paused with surprise. He tilted his head as he thought about it, then grinned. “So you two are getting along already. Great. But…I don’t trust you, naturally, and she doesn’t seem to either.” He pulled a small case from his torso, and withdrew the pre-filled syringe which lay in it. He flushed it while he circled Lester. “This is _supposed_ to knock you out. Hopefully she likes you enough not to kill you, ‘cause we’re definitely taking a chance here. Kinda out of options.”

“Better safe than sorry, huh?”

“Yeah. Sorry, too, though. For what it’s worth.”

“Bull.” Lester had half a mind to try connecting the back of his skull with Raze’s forehead, or jolt so the kid dropped the needle. But hey. Playing with pipsqueak and little Miss might be _fun._


	2. Quaking Captor

Tabitha stared at the limp form cuffed to her wall. She took a sip from the half-finished bottle of absinthe in her one hand and followed it with a drag of cigarette. The latter had no flavor at all, but the absinthe left a very mild impression of licorice to her insensitive tastebuds. She flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette onto the floor, so that it joined the pile that had already formed between her knees. She could clean it up later. She was _busy._

So was _he_. Glass watched, hardly flinching when he jolted in his unconsciousness. She read the fear in his expression, in his shudders and tensing, in his tone when he murmured unintelligibly. A few seconds later, the scent of fear confirmed itself in her nose.

 _Third nightmare in these two hours,_ she catalogued the note in her mind, beside the list of his scars.

He had very, _very_ many scars, which stood out harshly on his pale skin and were highlighted by the cool white light and metal walls of her kill room. Her fingers twitched near the knife strapped on her thigh. She wanted to add to them – to make a mark on the canvas displayed before her. To have something _there_ of her that would _stay,_ that would serve as the retelling of a story whenever he looked. _Glass_ could not scar and keep stories. Her injuries dissolved like her memories before the amnesia – wiped away without a trace.

But she could add to the display of _artwork_ that hung so beautifully on her wall.

Instead, she downed several more ounces of absinthe and ignored her shaking hands. He was beautiful, yes. A canvas, yes. She _itched_ to add. But Glass knew herself – once she split the skin and drew blood, she doubted she’d be able to contain desire. And she was no animal. She _would_ control herself, and she _wouldn’t_ be so disrespectful to such a master as Bullseye.

**_You could brand him instead._ **

_No. I won’t. Besides, he would be furious._

Raze had regarded her strangely when she requested Bullseye be without clothes. She’d excused it by pointing out that _any_ resources the man had at hand could be weaponized or used to escape. He’d reluctantly agreed, and they had stripped Lester naked. The shifter had paused at the name carved into the assassin’s torso. Glass had not paused at all. She’d taken no issue with the lack of undergarments. Raze had, and found a pair of loose black boxers to shield him. She’d since removed those.

She mused to herself that the respect they shared for this man, while equally profound, was very different. Then again, Raze may have been less comfortable with nudity than he indicated in his behaviors. Or, she may have been _mildly_ obsessed.

An hour later, and a dream of a very _different_ kind, Bullseye groaned and rolled his head to the side as he blinked awake. He stretched as much as he could with his hands cuffed directly against the wall, and took stock of his surroundings.

His eyes settled on Tabitha with amused recognition and a distinct side of _you’d better know who you’re fucking with._ Her reaction was _precious_ – stock-still like a little birdie caught by a snake. He grinned widely, chillingly, and noticed her chest cease its rise and fall. Her breath caught in her throat, too, and she finally broke eye contact to look down. Her hand shook as she raised her cigarette to her lips.

“Well, Missy…I hear we’re roommates.”

She inhaled sharply, and her eyes shot back up to his briefly. Her eyes twitched, as if she was about to blink but stopped herself. “Hello, Mozart,” she said calmly – a disconnect from her other reactions.

Lester took in the pile of ash, the empty bottle. The room stank of cigarette smoke and was slightly clouded. He looked up at his binds. Two inches wide, half an inch thick, and built seemingly right into the wall. His arms were bare.

Heh. His _arms_ were bare. He looked down at his body to find it in the same state, and started laughing.

“Gettin’ intimate, are we?”

She shrugged. “This eliminated any projectiles,” she gestured to his body with the hand which held her cigarette. “And you would understand my appreciation of canvases well-painted.”

 _Well, wasn’t she a little creep?_ Lester chuckled to himself. “Your appreciation of art _is_ one of your better qualities.”

Glass looked at him again, and took another drag from the cigarette with less-shaking fingers. “Our mutual acquaintance is not so well-versed or appreciative,” she noted rather bitterly, drawing another chuckle from Lester.

“Flake’s a dumb kid.”

“Flake?” she asked.

“Snowflake. ‘Cause he’s so delicate.”

“Hm.” A small smile graced her lips, as habitual a fake as any. “He’s ignorant by both definitions of the word. I have thin tolerance for ignorance and thought he would grow out of it a few years ago. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

“Guess so.” Lester took another look around the room. Metal walls, metal floor. Bright blue-white lighting. Cigarette _fog_. To his right, there was a wall with a door in it – also metal, with a small square window. In front of him, to Tabitha’s right, his left, was another door without a window. Above where she sat, in the wall, there appeared to be irregularities at regular intervals. Cupboards, maybe.

Glass observed him observing. “That’s a titanium slab you’re cuffed to. This is my holding cell. Sometimes for hostages, more often for torture subjects. That’s the first aid room-“ she nodded her head to the door on the right with the window.

“Ya plan on try’na torture me, Miss Glass?” he grinned at her, amused.

“No. Only on containing you as per my client’s request. I don’t trust you in my safe house. That might change. It may not.”

He noticed her fingers trembled violently on her cigarette when she talked about _trusting_ him in her house. She put the butt out in the pile of ash. She was _terrified_ of him, what he was capable of, and how he might repay her _hospitality_. **_Good._** He liked being feared. Lester hummed a short, jaunty little tune.

“So what’s Flake payin’ ya? You’re a smart girl, Tabby. We’ve had a good time, but you _know_ what you’re riskin.’ What’s he doin’ that’s so worth your while?”

Just like that, Glass locked down. A solid, impassive mask of an expression settled on her face, and she pulled herself together. No more shaking. She didn’t make a sound. And _nobody_ goes so strongly on the defence about mere _cash_. Lester practically _leered._

“You don’t need his contacts or politics. You’re more tactful than he is – you can get your own contacts, now can’cha? He could be _screwin’_ ya, but you’re not his type. He’s been _running_ down faggot lane since his last girlfriend. Massive mommy issues, ya know.”

Lester yawned and pulled himself up, rolling his shoulders. He stretched his neck from side to side, and a joint clicked in with a metallic _pop_. Glass remained impassive, but her attention was fully devoted to him. He narrowed his eyes along with a cutting smile. “What does a little bloodsucker want that a regen like him has plenty to give?”

She set her jaw and swallowed, a flush rising to her cheeks. He got the impression that she could’ve controlled her reactions if she’d wanted. That didn’t take the fun out of her embarrassment. “The answer was obvious from the start,” she muttered.

“Gimme a drag.”

The change of topic gave her pause. Soon enough, she lit a fresh cigarette and stood, cautiously approaching him. He held eye contact with her as she held the cig to his lips, and he leaned forward just enough. He inhaled once and breathed smoke out slowly, studying her. Tabitha’s flush deepened, and she looked from his eyes to his lips, down to the morning package, and away…until he moved again to take the cigarette between his lips, and she repeated the process of searching for _something_ to look at. He exhaled with a sigh that time, not backing away even though he was finished. She got the idea several long seconds later, and retreated herself, returning to her wall without turning her back on him.  

“Well, little Miss. You’ve got that intimacy ya wanted, ain’cha?” he said in a low voice, blue eyes cutting.

Tabitha remained still for another moment, then calmly put the cigarette to her own lips. It was futile, since she couldn’t taste him on it – she couldn’t taste _anything_. But it _felt_ different.

“Eat and drink when I bring you food and drink. I’ll bring a bucket so you may relieve yourself at those points. Darkholme brought your meds. I expect you to know what you need and at what intervals. I run like clockwork – figure out the blend and you’ll get it. I will release you while I am not in the room, provided you return to your current position before I enter the room. If you do not eat or drink when offered, I will either run a tube down your esophagus or attach an IV. If I suspect you are attempting to OD, or worsen your…problems,” she indicated by moving her hand toward her head, “then I will proceed with previous medication.”

Lester listened, bored by it all. He could see the perfect little place on her perfect little face where he’d like to plant a bullet and watch blood bloom. He could picture the bloom so vividly, too, and the life draining from her cold brown eyes. Heh.

 “Did you have that rehearsed?” he said with a drawl, uninterested and unimpressed.

“Somewhat. I knew what information was pertinent to relay.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. She tended to take things literally and respond to rhetoric as real questions. Funny little quirk.

The laugh set her on edge, and Tabitha swallowed tightly. “I have work to do.” She made no move toward the door, though she knew she should.

Lester tilted his head at her. Didn’t wanna leave, now did she? “Of course. No one would expect you to completely clear your schedule so you could spend all your time watching over lil’ old me.”

His words hit home. She drew a shuddering inhale, unblinking. “No one would expect that.”

He raised a brow and smiled, lighthearted once more. “So. What’s on the schedule, then? R&R? Sneak job? Our favorite pastime?”

“Which is reading or torture?”

A wide, toothy grin. “Why not both?”

She wet her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d offer to bring you a book, but you’d use it as a weapon.”

“The pen is mightier than the sword,” he chuckled. “You could read to me if your schedule wasn’t so full.”

Tabitha paused again. “I have a copy of Paradise Lost.”

“What’s your favorite book, Glass?”

“Alice in Wonderland,” she answered promptly.

“Hm. Think we’ll have time for both?” he joked, raised a brow.

“In six months, I don’t see-“ Tabitha caught herself. “Humor. Not my forte.”

“Let’s trip down the rabbit hole, little Miss. But bring that bucket you mentioned first.”

Glass nodded, picked up her bottles of absinthe, and left.

The door clicked locked behind her and the security panel activated.

She stared blankly at it, thinking over the conversation. Her hands shook badly enough that the bottles rattled against each other, and it took her some time to realize that was what made the noise…after she realized there was a noise in the first place. Tabitha looked down at them and crossed the kitchen, set the bottles on the counter. Leaned against the counter, stared at nothing in particular and soon felt sensation return to her hands.

**_You’re letting him get to you, and get too much out of you._ **

_Henry got more. This is nothing._

**_Henry was useful to us. Bullseye’s a death wish, not an opportunity to get better._ **

_Henry was never going to make us better. We found that out in the long run._

The Void felt like it was holding something back, like there was a response on the edge of the blackness, but it didn’t want to…give itself away. Tabitha rubbed the bridge of her nose, forehead, and temples. That was crazy. It was crazy. It couldn’t hide anything from her, because it _was_ her. She shoved aside the Void conversation and thoughts surrounding it, and instead focused back on the Lester conversation.

He’d altered her focus. She’d let him. He was slicker than Henry. She’d have to be careful to stay on track if anything important happened.

Tabitha shook herself out of her shock. She went downstairs – past the laundry room false front and back to the lab – and brought the bucket back up. Clean and pristine between now and the last use. She also grabbed a bottle of water.

When she re-entered the kill room, Lester was singing. She let him finish his tune before she raised the water to his mouth. He drank half the bottle. She capped it and set the bucket down. Then she left the room with the bottle and looked at the video feed over her phone. She changed a setting, which rotated the solid metal cuffs to release his wrists and ankles. The cuffs retreated into the wall, and were covered by panels that slid into place to conceal them.

Lester looked at the panels and noted how closely they sat against the wall. They’d be difficult to mess with. He took a piss. When he finished, he inspected the panels on the wall by the exit. They were built close to the wall, too, and he’d need time to explore them later. He looked through the window to her ‘first aid’ room. Fridge with some IV and blood bags and what he could only assume were drugs. Medical table. Plastic sheet. No handle on this side of the door.

Interesting.

There was a click overhead, and Lester looked up. Her voice followed, though he couldn’t tell exactly where from. Acoustics must’ve been fucked up, or she’d placed multiple sources for just that purpose. The speaker – or speakers – musta been some high-tech tiny gizmos. Same with the camera(s), no doubt.

“I’m coming in. Return to your position.”

“Can ya hear me, little Miss?” he tested. No reply. If there was a microphone in here, she was smart for not giving it away. There were a number of buttons he thought of pushing, see if he could goad her into responding. He decided to save it instead. They had time. He returned to the binds, placing his limbs as they’d been before. The metal cuffs slid back out and rotated into place.

Seconds later, Glass entered with a book and a fresh pack of cigarettes. She held the book under an arm while she lit up, and looked at him while she pocketed the lighter. She turned to the first page, then approached and offered him a drag. He accepted, watching with amusement as she backed just out of the ‘personal space’ bubble, but raised the cig to her own lips.

Later, he was further amused when she forgot to back out of that space between drags.

_“All in the golden afternoon_   
_Full leisurely we glide;_   
_For both our oars, with little skill,_   
_By little arms are plied,_   
_While little hands make vain pretence_   
_Our wanderings to guide. …”_


	3. The Disturbed, The Disturbers, and The Disturbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty. We got some moody homicidal people. We got at least one mental breakdown. We got some sub/Dom dynamics. And heed the new tags, cause we got some freshly disturbing content. 
> 
> Raze likes to take care of mentally different people. He gets them on one level or another. He kinda hates Tabitha, but he's been doing his usual to help because she is, as he puts it, fucked up.  
> Tabitha was agoraphobic until about four years prior story. She's been letting people in and going out more often ever since. She's still very paranoid. She can go into month-long depressions if left to her own devices.  
> Lester's moody too. I'm hoping he's still in-character for this chapter.

_From a tugboat, by the river_  
_A cement bag's droopin' down_  
_And the cement's just for the weight, dear_  
_Bet you MacHeath's back in town_

_-Mac the Knife, Louis Armstrong version_

 

By the tenth day, Tabitha thought she was going to be fine. She’d fallen into something of a rhythm – feed Lester in the morning. Leave. Work on…well, work, while keeping an eye on the live video. Feed him around noon. Read, and talk. Apparently, he hadn’t had such stimulating conversation from previous captors. She believed that. She’d feed him again around dinner with food, meds and water. He hadn’t given her any trouble. She’d hoped to keep it that way and keep him satisfied. Tabitha was certainly satisfied – the arrangement was organized, non-threatening, clean.

She woke up the eleventh day feeling relatively sane. She made breakfast. She’d taken to eating while he ate, which meant she was less malnourished this last week than usual and her mood wasn’t as low. She checked her video feed and saw him sitting, arms on his bent knees, already awake and humming a song.

“Morning. Breakfast. The usual, please,” she said, calm voice void of command, demand, desperation. An outsider might’ve thought she sounded happy.

Lester paused his singing and smiled widely. His head fell back against the wall and he opened his eyes. He looked directly at the camera feed, grinned like the caged apex predator he was, and flipped her the bird.

Tabitha stared back into blue eyes and inhaled sharply. So. He’d identified a camera, then. That was…fine. Glass waited for him to move. He didn’t.

She pressed another button, and biotoxin started filtering into the kill room. Within the minute, he was unconscious. She walked into the room thirty seconds later and stopped in her tracks at the pile of-

Of-

She stared at the unconscious body.

_How the hell did he get into my panels?_

**_What did you expect from Bullseye, stupid bitch?_ **

She grit her teeth at the Void, and walked back out of the room. She set the plates of food back on the kitchen counter before she came back. She carried the torture and binding implements out of the room, then secured each panel. She inspected his form for anything he might’ve snatched, and pulled a pair of needle-nose pliers from one of his hands.

Glass grimaced as the thought came to her, but she slid on a glove and checked cavities, too. She wouldn’t put it past him to swallow something and collect it in his shit later, so she’d have to be careful over the next several days. For now, though…there was nothing in his cavities.

She disposed of the glove, then crossed the kill room and picked up the body…

Easier said than done. The man was taller, broader, and three (possibly four) times her weight with the adamantium lining his bones. Glass ended up dragging him to the wall. She took a rope from her pile of tools, looped it around one of his wrists, and leveraged it over the cuff until his hand was nearly there. She held it and slid the cuff back manually, then repeated the process with his other wrist. Legs were significantly easier when he was already erect.

He woke twenty minutes later. She stood, picked up his plate, and approached him as she had every morning thus far.

He still had that look in his eyes, but he looked angry now. She froze two feet away, breathless and barely trembling.

_Nothing’s going to be fine._

His mouth split into a grin again, but his eyes didn’t change. That was Cheshire, Tabitha thought. She was no stranger to that sort of grin – she’d worn it herself, in fact. Cold, false, showing the sort of vicious amusement that comes with absolutely no humor and all venom.

It was the playful swing into the air before the shark’s jaws fell closed.

“I know the after-feel of penetration.”

Her mouth went painfully dry. “It was a cavity search.”

“Mhm. But I’ll tell you a secret, little Miss. If you _ever_ pull that on my unconscious body again, I’ll wreck your pretty little head in all the wrong ways and leave you drooling over checkers in a second-rate loony-bin.”

Her eyelids flickered. Threatening violence wouldn’t have affected her. He’d figured her out enough to know that _insanity_ was far more concerning. Tabitha nodded and swallowed. “My mistake.”

“Yep. Lovely toys, by the way,” he winked, smile easing into something more casual and less cruel.

Tabitha nodded slightly. “Thank you.”

“Anything you haven’t used yet?”

“No. But I’ve used the speculum only once.”

He laughed loudly, more energetically than Tabitha had expected. It spooked her a bit, by her twitch and the look on her face. “Do tell.”

“I wedged it into her mouth and screwed it open as far as it would go. Dislocated her jaw. Popped it back into place. Only took two rounds before she spilled intel.”

“Mm. Was she a screamer, Tabby?”

She thought back, picturing the scene. “Yes. And she wouldn’t stop crying.”

He tilted his head and pushed off the wall as close as he could to her. “Are _you_ a screamer, little Miss?”

 _Why don’t you find out?_ Was what she’d like to have said. Instead, Glass curbed her tongue. “No. My vocal chords don’t take well to screaming, but I tend not to anyway except in cases of… more intense than a dislocated jaw, so you can imagine.”

“I _can_ imagine.” Lester leaned back again. “Don’t let me keep you from hosting company.”

“Speaking of. I wouldn’t be a respectable host if I couldn’t offer breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Your pills, then.”

His lack of response was enough consent for Glass. She held out the pills, pausing when Lester slid his tongue out. After a moment of decision, and eyeing his playful look, she placed the two drugs on his tongue and offered him coffee to wash it down.

She stood there for another minute, making up her mind. She made it. “How did you get into my panels?”

His grin spread once more. “The same way you do.”

If it was possible for her to pale, she would’ve.

He chuckled. “Have you noticed the imperfection in the one on my left?”

Her eyes flickered to his and she frowned slightly. “…No.”

“Feel it. Inch or two above the bottom right corner.”

She stepped back out of reach before she set the plate down and turned her back to him. Lester started humming absently, though he watched her keenly.

It hadn’t been difficult to identify the perfectionist streak Glass had. It was in the fine-tuning of the kill room, in the minimal alteration of the schedule she’d made, in the tidiness of her appearance. True to his expectation, she found the warp in the metal panel and began to tremble.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shook his head. “Sloppy job on the metalworker’s part. Guess ya didn’t check their work as well as you thought?” He started humming jazz again. She recognized the tune. _Ain’t that a kick in the head? My head keeps spinnin’, I go to sleep and keep grinnin’…_

“That didn’t affect your entry,” she said. She grit her teeth and turned. Nostrils flared, eyes wide, voice verging on rage…or was it panic? Or both? Lester watched with all the interest of a bully ripping wings off bugs. “Those _panels_ were _foolproof!”_

He chuckled and rolled his head back. “I’m no fool, am I, little Miss?”

The logic of his statement irritated her. His _mirth_ irritated her. Before she knew it, Glass was pointing a knife to his throat, tip barely grazing skin. Her eyes were hot with fury. His were deadly cold. “I _knew_ better. I don’t _want_ you here. I’m going to _flay_ you, then capture that _imbecile_ and break him until he regresses back to infanthood.”

“Sounds like a party,” he grinned pearly whites and leaned into the knife’s tip. Tabitha pulled it back quickly, but the skin had already split on her professionally sharp blade. She stared at the spot of red. “Gonna drain me dry, too?

She stood frozen and staring, words falling on ears overwhelmed with the rush of blood and heartbeat. The cloying scent occupied her nose. Narrow pupils blew wide, nearly drowning out the brown iris of her eyes. Eventually, Tabitha blinked and tore her eyes away, staring instead at the drop of blood on her knife’s tip.

_He’s seen it before. They both know. I need to stop starving myself._

She raised the knife to her mouth and licked off the red, not noticing that Lester was showing an unusual amount of interest. She looked at him when the blade was clean.

“No. Your blood is trash.”

With that, she turned on her heel and left the room.

Lester’s laughter followed her out.

It echoed in her head after she’d locked the door and let him out of the cuffs. It echoed later when she cut celery for lunch. She paused mid-stroke, shaking in a cold sweat, and turned to look at the kill room’s door. She dropped the knife from her shaking fingers and picked up her phone.

It rang. He picked up.

“I am not doing this.”

“Glass. You of all people should be able to contain this guy. I’m depending on your expertise.”

“Damn you, Raze!” she yelled at the phone. She shuddered and pulled herself back together. “Of course I can _contain_ him, you insufferable prick. My capability is _not_ the concern. I’ve told you time and again, this residence is _not_ a public forum. _No one_ should be here-“

“Cut the bullshit. I know you housed McCoy for two years. You’ve had little pets and friends over, not to mention _me_ and whoever else you fuck. He let slip that he’s been over before. You’re so far from keeping your place a secret that you might as well put a sign out advertising your services.”

The Void laughed at her. She picked up the kitchen knife and stabbed the cutting board so hard that the blade stuck in the wood. “I can’t _manage_ with him here. You appreciate my abilities? You want to keep receiving information, have the type of resources at your fingertips that _I_ have managed to dig up for our…our industry? Then I. Need. My fucking _sanity_ intact, you absolute sackless moron. You _said_ you’d be here twice a week. Fucking. Be here.”

She hung up on the phone and – with great difficulty – set it down carefully on the counter. She paced back and forth in the room, Void slinking forward from the borders she’d set for it years ago.

_Need to kill something. Fucking choke him to death. Carve his fucking heart out._

She screamed instead, but the noise cut off as usual when her vocal chords seized. Her frustration climbed. She went downstairs and found one of Henry’s shirts, burying her face in it. His scent was long gone, but the texture against her skin brought back the olfactory memory. Tears welled in her eyes.

Tabitha forgot about lunch and went for a run. She came back with a body, bruises blooming against the tender flesh of their neck. She strapped them to Henry’s operating table and practiced anatomy.

\------

When Raze came later in the day, he found her smoking on the kitchen floor. Blood had dried on her chin, and from her fingertips to above the elbow. Spatter from arteries dotted her cheek and neck. A bit of liver was stuck to her hair. She looked up at him dully.

“Really?” he raised his brows at her.

Tabitha didn’t respond, just leaned her head back against the cupboards and took another drag.

“You need a shower.” Raze squatted in front of her when she didn’t respond, and he noted the haze over her eyes. “Tabitha. Get your shit together. I’m gonna be here for a day or two. Give ya a break. Look. Nobody’s getting in or out of here, okay? No one’s chasing you. There’s no bounty on you. Just go take a shower and take it easy.”

No response. Raze sighed and stood, combed his fingers through his hair. He plucked the dark flesh from her hair and stared at it a moment, stuck between disgust and familiarity. He eventually threw it into the sink. Then he sighed at her and took on a more dominant tone.

“On your knees.”

Her fingers twitched and her eyes flicked up to his. He stared her down until she started moving – she put out the cigarette against the tile and slowly moved into the position.

Raze slid his fingers into her hair, grasped it, and pulled her head back. Her eyes remained glazed, but she had enough presence of mind to break eye contact. Raze stroked her pale, blood-spattered cheek with his other hand. Then he pulled it back and slapped her firmly. He grabbed her chin and made her look up again. This time, there was a spark of anger in her eyes.

“Very good. Atta girl. Come on back.” He pushed two fingers into her mouth as far as they’d go. She couldn’t gag, but it was uncomfortable and humiliating. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she moaned quietly.

“There ya go.” He thrust them in further, then slapped her again with that hand and gave her hair a good tug. It ripped a more affected groan from her.

“Tabitha. Can you hear me?” he asked calmly, stoking his thumb against her cheek.

She nodded and leaned into the touch.

“Good girl,” he murmured. She sighed softly and leaned against his thigh. Raze kept a good pressure on her hair, pulling a little while he let her sit in her submission. When he could feel her body returning to its normal state – blood pressure, heart rate – he pulled her away from his thigh and met her eyes. “Go take a hot bath. Soak, relax. Get dressed. Do your makeup and hair. Then come down and meet me in the living room.”

It took her a few more moments to shake off her mood, but she did eventually push to her feet. She walked to the upstairs bathroom slowly. Raze waited for her to lock herself in as was her habit, then he called a couple takeout places.

Then, he went downstairs to see the corpse.

It was still breathing.

Raze exhaled slowly, pursed his lips. He approached the body – young guy, blond. Pretty. Expensive clothes discarded on the floor. He took a deep breath, then realized that was a terrible idea when the stench of blood and entrails flooded his senses. He gagged and moved to the sink to vomit.

“Ugh.”

The guy had a healthy heart and was unconscious, which were likely the only things keeping him alive. The shock alone would kill him if he woke up and saw the state of his torso. There were bites on his neck, and he was very pale. Too much blood loss. Raze checked the guy’s thigh – yeah. Femoral artery nicked, and barely patched up.

He killed his ability to smell, then took another breath and sighed. It was easy enough to snap the guy’s neck. Seconds later, the organs stopped moving. Raze stared at the exposed liver.

_“This is the gold, Raze. Humans’ve treasured the animal’s liver forever.” Victor held up the entire, intact organ. It looked slimy, and still had fat around it. “Take a bite.”_

He shuddered to the present and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned away, but paused.

_“Ya never let shit go t’waste. Ya got the pelt, the organs, the meat, bones. Ain’t no point in killin’ a nice buck like this if ya ain’t gonna use it all. If ya don’t, the rest o’the critters’ll finish it off. But it ain’t honorable.”_

He turned back to the body and ran a finger over the liver, the texture familiar and almost…nice.

_“Humans’re less than animals, Raze. Sure, the rest of us are animals, but we’re the predators. Humans ain’t got the instinct t’void us. Ya don’t need t’honor ‘em same as ya’d honor a buck. But if ya gotta eat, there ain’t nothin’ t’feel ashamed about.”_

Raze thought about eating it, and almost puked over the open torso. He turned more quickly and ran up the stairs, closing the door firmly behind him when he reached the laundry room.


	4. Daddy's Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! more than three chapters! I wrote more in the last two days than I had in the previous six months, so I'm surprised. I'm at another blank - not sure what comes next. 
> 
> No additional warnings for this chapter to my knowledge.

_What a precious basket case._  
_Now shut your dirty mouth_  
_If I could run this town,_  
_I wouldn't hesitate_  
_To smile while you suffocate and die._  
_That would be just fine._  
_What a lovely time_

_\- Choke by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME_

 

The door opened while Lester was sitting against the wall. He looked up slowly, wondering what could make careful little Miss do something so very rash. Ah. Well, that was different.

“’Flake!” he greeted as if talking to an old friend, teeth and smiles.

Raze stared at him like a dimwit for a moment.

“What’sa matter, ‘Flake? Glass cut your tongue?” he chuckled at his own joke.

The shifter blinked twice, and slowly jut a thumb backward, indicating outside the room. “Did she not give you any of your clothes? I specifically bought you like…lots of clothes.”

Lester snickered. “I don’t think little Tabitha likes following your orders, ‘Flake. Not as much as she likes eyeing up, anyway.”

He shook his head and his hand dropped to his side. “Fuckin’ crazy bitch-“ he walked out of the room without closing the door.

Lester raised a brow and craned his neck to get a peek out. Heh. _That_ looked like a kitchen. Kinda bold of her to keep a place like this in the middle of a cozy house.

Raze was back shortly with a pair of sweat pants, socks and a T-shirt, which he dropped directly in front of Lester. Apparently it didn’t occur to him to supply underwear. “Put those on, or at least the pants. Living room’s that way-“ he pointed at the wall to Lester’s left. “Got food there. Sit on the couch. And move it while she’s still in the bathroom.”

With that, the kid walked out again. Lester stared at the pile of fabric, then at the open door. Felt strange. He patted the pile, picked up the shirt and pulled it on. Pants. Socks. Comfortable, soft, warm. Strange, after two weeks. Nice though.

He stood and stepped out of the room, felt the cool, bright metal practically fade away behind him. He looked around at the warm hues of interior décor. Wooden kitchen cupboards, verging on cherry. Grey stone-pattern tile. Warm brown walls. The short hall to his left leading to the living room, leading to more warm brown walls, black furniture, glass-top coffee table.

The hall wall sported a black-and-white abstract oil painting. Something was strange about it. He zoned in on it.

“You haven’t had a shower, smells like.” Raze was standing by the kitchen sink.

“You’re tall today,” Lester pointed out in monotone, still looking at the picture. Ah - that’s what it was. No grey. Only black and white. Food for thought and conversation later.

“I’m guessing she didn’t let you out of that room at all?”

He took a couple steps toward the shifter, moving to get a better angle. Raze was bleeding into a 1-liter bottle, empty of water, slowly filling with crimson. “Nope.” Lester popped the ‘p.’ “Shitty babysitter if you ask me.”

“That’s for sure,” Raze muttered. The cut was close to closed on his arm, so he stabbed himself with one of his claws to reopen it. The wound gushed afresh into the bottle opening.

“She a vampire?”

Yellow eyes turned to him, trying to get a bead on Lester’s reason for asking. But Raze shrugged. “Probably not. Doesn’t smell like Jubilee. Heart pumps. Blood runs hot, not dead. She’s just…” he reopened the wound without a flinch. “Fucked up. The cravings are real, though. She goes somewhere else when she feeds.”

He nodded and turned away, walked to the living room. He stared at the takeout on the table. Fancy expensive shit probably cost the kid a fortune all on its own. Lester picked up a slice of pizza and a box of sushi, and kicked back on the couch, legs up. He dug into the pizza first. Great texture. Fair amount of toppings. Spicy. Just a shame he could hardly taste it.

“Waste of cash,” he said when Raze walked into the room, carrying the capped bottle.

“Huh? Oh." He shrugged. “It’s good quality. Sourced well, nutritious. Worth supporting good business like that.”

Raze sat down on the couch, not touching but getting goddamn close. Lester froze and held his chopsticks tensely. “Walk your freak self across the room, Flake,” he said coolly.

“Calm the fuck down, Lester,” Raze responded immediately. “You’re starving. You got next to no stimulation in there - not even fabric against your skin. Sit up. Let me help.”

“Get fucked.”

“If you’d prefer.” The shifter snorted. “Quit being ornery.”

“Shocked ya even know the word,” Lester grinned, but it was flighty and unstable.

“You hurt me with those, I’ll recover. You keep being as dense as your skull, you’ll end up back in that room going crazier faster. Sit up or lie down. I’ll massage you. Back, legs, arms – tell me where to start, I’ll start there.”

After a couple more thoroughly-chewed mouthfuls, Lester sat up next to the shifter. “Upper back. Try anything funny and you’ll be lucky if I _only_ break your hands.”

“Hey, fair enough.”

Raze noticed the flinch when he first touched Lester’s back; but since the guy didn’t say anything, he didn’t pause. He rubbed firmly, in broader movements, bringing blood up by the skin instead of bearing down on knots – the point wasn’t the massage itself, but the physical contact. Plus, he doubted he’d have enough time to work any knots out before Lester called it quits. For now, he was eating quietly, zoned out.

Shit could’ve been a lot more awkward, Raze thought. He’d taken a no-nonsense this-is-what-we’re-gonna-do approach, figuring it would go over better than offering options or talking about the guy’s state of mind. He was satisfied with how it was playing out.

By the time Raze heard Tabitha walking down the stairs, Lester had set aside his box and chopsticks and was slumping forward like he’d pass out. Raze was working on the midsection of his back – figured it was safer to go down than rub at the man’s neck, though it probably needed a massage more than the rest.

Glass stopped in her tracks when she reached the living room entrance. Raze ignored her presence, humming softly when he felt Lester tense. A second later, he pulled away from the shifter’s reach. Tabitha moved to sit on a chair across the coffee table from them. She drank from the bottle he’d filled, the red staining her lips.

Raze reached for a box of sushi. Tabitha stared dully at the two of them, but he could see the tension in her jaw and pose, the agitation in her eyes. She wouldn’t say anything unless the men broke ice first. Raze decided to observe instead of let her tongue loose; Lester had essentially curled up against the couch arm and back, seeming detached. He wasn’t starting the conversation either.

After eating through a box of takeout, Raze got up and went to the linen closet down the hall. He picked a thick, heavy blanket. When he came back, he felt the heightened tension in the room. Tabitha wasn’t breaking eye contact, for once, and Lester was clearly just as agitated as she. Raze dropped the blanket on Lester’s legs, and pressed his hand on the man’s shoulder as casually as possible. Tabitha’s attention had moved to watch Raze. She cataloged every action and pushed the catalog aside to think about later.

Lester pulled the blanket up around himself tightly. Raze sat in the center of the couch and put his arms over the back of it. Tabitha stared at him until Raze saw fit to stare her down. Then she looked away, eyes automatically returning to the man now passing out in a blanket.

“What’s your problem, Glass?” he finally said. Lester blinked awake and returned to an awareness of his environment and the exchange taking place.

She looked coolly at the shifter. “He’s a risk.”

“You wanna die. I don’t see how risk is a problem.”

She bristled and started to tremble again, but raised the bottle to her mouth and drank more. Raze watched the line of her throat. “You know what I have here.”

“Yeah, all the shit you shouldn’t be keeping here ‘cause you aren’t guarding the place as well as you did when you first moved in. Big deal. Every spook gets compromised at one point or another, Tabs. It isn’t _my_ fault that you haven’t found a better solution.”

She grit her teeth together and crossed an ankle over the other. “I don’t like having him here.”

“Uh huh.” Raze stared at her for a moment, expression darkening to a deep frown. “Y’know what _my_ problem is? Which should concern you far more than your precious intel?” Her attention locked on him. “I told you to contain him. Great job. I told you to _take care_ of him. **_Half-job,_** Tabitha. Now, I don’t know what’s going on in your head, and I frankly _don’t want_ to know. I don’t _care._ You need to straighten it out, because it’s interfering with your work.”

Glass scowled at him, then at a corner of the room. “You’re _insulting-”_

“I’m telling the truth. I don’t give a shit if you take it as an insult. I want you to _fix_ your problems. I told you to give him his clothes. Y’didn’t. I told you to let him out for a breather now and then. Y’didn’t. He hasn’t had a shower-“

“Excuse me if I’m not fond of the idea of letting _Bullseye_ run rampant over my _residence,”_ she snapped at him with an unusual level of sass. Raze arched a brow at her and smirked meanly.

“You’re not being very good.”

She flushed and tilted her chin higher, as if posture could help maintain her dignity. “Follow our contract.”

“You broke it first. And I do remember the very detailed sections on humiliation and punishment.”

Lester started chuckling, getting their attention. First noise he’d made since Raze started rubbing his back. It turned into full-blown laughter, which agitated Tabitha and annoyed Raze. He wiped tears from his eyes.

“Man. Please, keep goin’. Don’t let me get in between your couple’s spat,” he mocked, then pouted at Tabitha. “I’m disappointed, Miss. ‘Flake? Really? I figured ya had some low standards, but ya really gotta scrape the bottom of the barrel?”

Tabitha mentally shrank in on herself at the mention of disappointment. She’d thought many times in the past about the mess of a contract she held with Raze, but having someone point it out only seemed to amplify the ridiculous and degrading aspects. “We have a business arrangement.”

“What she means is I practically own her ass,” Raze said. Glass glared furtively at him. Lester rolled his eyes.

“Like that’s worth bragging about. Here it looked like y’were playin’ exclusively for the other team, but it turns out ya jus’ dumped a smart girl like Lee for a sheep. Baa-a-a,“ he snickered.

“Sheep?!”

“Lee was a threat. Glass is nothing.”

“Nothing? I can pull strings you don’t even see, _child._ ”

“Oh, don’t pull the whole middle-aged bitch with superior experience thing again,” Raze rolled his eyes. “I’m close enough to cutting our agreement short without help that way.”

Glass trembled furiously and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

“Put that away,” Raze told her.

She stared impassively back. “No. Want one?” she offered to Lester.

“Sure, doll,” he grinned.

Tabitha lit up and walked across the living room to pass him the cigarette she’d just had perched between her lips. She took out a new one to replace it, lit, and inhaled deeply on it. She sat back down.

Raze arched a brow at Lester questioningly. He grinned back. The shifter wrinkled his nose when fresh smoke dominated the room. He dulled his sense of smell for the second time that day. Then he put two and two together. _That_ was why she didn’t want to keep Lester around. He smirked and put his feet up on the coffee table.

“How’s it goin’ with the Henry thing?”

She paused and looked at him, old, faded pain warring in her eyes with something new. “Fine. I’m virtually undisturbed.”

“Finally over him, huh? Something’s getting under your skin, though.”

She tensed minutely, but quickly recovered and shrugged. “If there is, it’s not known to me.”

“Right.” Raze smirked and looked back over at Lester. “What about you? Nothin’ gettin’ under your skin?”

“Nah, Missy and I have lotsa fun,” he grinned, eyes big and adorable – if he hadn’t been who he was. “We get to have nice chats.”

“Good. Let me know if she isn’t keeping you entertained. We’ve still got five and a half months to go.”

\-----

Eventually scathes, innuendo, and mockery gave way to organization. Raze sent Lester to shower. Tabitha took the opportunity to further express her displeasure. She left the house to dispose of the body, leaving Raze as babysitter. He kept an ear out for Lester, making sure the guy wasn’t trying any windows or the like. In the meantime, he worked on responding to emails. Political bullshit once again.

_“The wild suits ya, boy.” Raze crouched at the sound of a voice, but stood when he realized it was just Victor. He didn’t wait for the stream water to dry before shifting on a pair of jeans._

_“It suits my dad. I’m not Logan,” the young teen snapped, irritated._

_“Ya tan leather finer’n Logan.”_

_And he did. Years later, Raze had given Old Hank a leather collar he made with his own hands, starting with a buck he’d killed._

_“Quit comparing me to him. Quit comparing me to ma, too. Y’want my ass, Vic? Remember it’s **mine.”** _

Leatherwork and hunting didn’t help much in politics. Neither did his skin, his species. All his work would pay off eventually – they’d be free of abuse and occupy a _superior_ position in society by the time he finished.

His mind wandered again when he heard the water turn off. He pictured Daken in that stream. Funny. He _could_ picture Daken hunting, tanning animals. Eating their organs raw. It almost seemed more… visceral than Victor. Victor cleaned up for his work outside the woods, but he was a creature through and through. Daken was more _man_ than Victor, less animal.

Maybe that was what made him so frightening. People and their motivations were much more fiendish than animals. Animals survived. People…conquered.

His father – the _real_ one – was a modern warrior with one goal: to please himself.

Raze shuddered and swallowed, put away his laptop. He leaned forward, elbows against his legs. He thought of Lee. Conqueror. His mother. Daken. Apocalypse. They were composed of cruelty and purpose intertwined.

He loathed them all to varying degrees. He preferred to look at Magneto, Marx, Kaplan, as sources of inspiration for leading. They were driven more by purpose than cruelty – their murders were sanitized. He looked to Hank as a source of inspiration for being a _person._ At heart, however, he got on best with the other animals – where cruelty was simply a part of instinct. Victor. Glass. Dark Beast. Lester fell in a curious bridge between that and conqueror.

Henry and Glass were cut from similar cloth. Mid-rank predators who would flee cowardly at larger threats, but who enjoyed playing with their prey and instilling fear. Glass had just never accepted that. She was still toying with the idea that she could be more _person._ Victor was less cowardly. None of them had achieved close to Raze’s aspirations, though. Lester was something else – _highly_ productive, but. Well. Raze wasn’t aiming for mass murder by his own hand one target at a time.

The conquerors and leaders had achieved the most. That told him what he needed to be. He needed to use his instinct for more than calming crazy people and working side assassination jobs. He needed to redirect it from the things Victor had taught him, to the schemes at hand. He needed to depend more on his well-developed intelligence and less on his senses. He needed to exercise his plentiful empathy less and run colder. And above all, he needed to stop putting individuals ahead of the greater good.

He needed to be more like his father, and pursue his goals with single-minded and selfish zeal.

“Earth to Snowflake.”

Raze jolted and looked over his shoulder at Lester, glaring.

Lester grinned. “Heh. Jumped right outta your skin. You’re usually harder t’sneak up on, freak. I coulda killed you easy.”

“Yeah, well. Lucky fer me you didn’t.” Raze shrugged and stood, heading into the kitchen where Lester was now getting a glass of water.

“What are ya tellin’ him?”

The shifter stared a minute before he realized who Lester was talking about. “That I’m having trouble pinning you down. That’s always been true one way or another, and he figures you’re better than me anyway. Swallows it easily enough.”

“Hmh.” Lester drank a whole glass of water, then refilled it.

“The baby’s a hideous little monster. I’d happily choke it to death, and I don’t kill kids.”

He snorted. “Do it.”

“Can’t. Daken.”

“Pussy.”

Raze shrugged again.

“You realize I can take care of myself.”

“Hah. Can you, Lester?” he asked straight out. Whoops. Hadn’t meant to talk about that, but the pot was freshly stirred. The guy was glaring daggers, and they were in a kitchen. Raze continued talking for his own safety. “Glass can barely take care of herself, but when someone else is there she tends them rigidly. You can’t tell me you’d be eating two or three times a day, taking your meds, drinking enough water, and getting enough sleep if you were on your own.”

“What’s it to you, fuckface?” he snapped, standing toe to toe with Raze.

Yeah. What was it to him? Fucking empathy acting up again. “I told you. I respect you. I take care of people I respect.”

Lester huffed a disbelieving laugh. From there, he seemed to become more and more amused, and was laughing hard in moments. “You’re…you’re a piece of work, Flake.”

Oddly enough, Raze could sense Lester was about to crash. He wasn’t exactly sure how. Then, the guy _did_ crash, slumping like he had on the couch. Raze stepped close and put his arm around Lester’s shoulders, the other on his chest, and led him into the living room and onto the couch.

“Shit. I gave her _explicit_ instructions,” he muttered, frustrated that he hadn’t checked earlier to set her straight.

“Missy’s scared. She _oughta_ be scared,” Lester mumbled, pushing back against the couch like he was going to bury himself in it. “I could bend her brain six ways to Sunday, not to mention the things I’ll do to her body.”

“Long as you stick around, do what you want with her. Try not to kill her.”

“Don’t need your permission to fuck her up.”

“Nah, but you have it anyway.” Raze observed Lester’s motions and decided to try something risky. He broadened his form so he’d be more of a presence, and pulled the man so his back was to Raze’s chest.

“Gettin’ fuckin’ cozy there, freak-“ Lester grumbled. He sounded far less irritated than Raze had expected – he’d anticipated a broken nose.

“Quit being ornery. This is just like food and water.”

“It ain’t _just_ like food and water, now is it.”

“I don’t like you _enough_ for it to be like anything else, so fuck off,” Raze rolled his eyes.

“Shut your trap, shithead.”


	5. Psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how to capitalize the french in the title. If anybody knows, please tell me? Ty. Title of course from Psycho Killer by Talking Heads. 
> 
> Moving on! I have like seven different scenes and three possible plots, but I started working on one scene and the rest just came together. No uh. No plan yet. No real plot. I end up focusing either on Raze or Glass as main plot when I try thinking of like. The end result of this fic. So it'll just keep going with scenes like so until I come up with something half-decent. 
> 
> No particular warnings for this one. Bit of swearing. Mentally unstable fricks doing different things and screwing with one another's heads. Mostly Lester screwing with Glass's. Raze attempting to assist at least one of the mentally unstable peeps. 
> 
> Oh! Mental/verbal abuse, as a warning. Yup.

_Take my car and paint it black_  
_Take my arm, break it in half_  
_Say something, do it soon_  
_It's too quiet in this room_  
  
_I need noise_  
_I need the buzz of a sub_  
_Need the crack of a whip_  
_Need some blood in the cut_

_Blood in the Cut, K.Flay_

 

 

Glass took longer disposing the body than she’d needed to. Lester fell asleep against Raze, who was growing increasingly alarmed by the concept. He was sure if the guy woke up leaning back against a shapeshifter on a couch, there would be blood. Lots of blood. Probably a mental breakdown or two. So, when five o’clock rolled around, Raze carefully extracted himself from the couch, leaving Lester lying somewhat on his side, head on a cushion, and the blanket tucked tightly around him. He made his way to the kitchen and checked Tabitha’s fridge.

Sliced, vacuum-sealed beef liver lay on a plate on a low shelf in there.

_“Gold.”_

More like deep, blackish red. If there was one thing Raze knew how to cook – and he could cook half-decently – it was meat. He pushed aside his inhibitions and his vegetable-leaning tastes, and fried two portions in a pan.

He understood Tabitha’s preference. The liver was saturated with blood, heavy on easily-absorbed iron. It probably didn’t take any of the edge off her craving since it wasn’t human, much less mutant, but she tried. She probably preferred this over muscle meat anyway.

Bitch couldn’t keep condiments in her fridge, though. No sauerkraut or kimchi. Some super-hot mustard. That was the problem with not being able to taste – she wouldn’t keep anything that didn’t burn her tongue or feel interesting in texture. Fair enough. He didn’t have to be happy about it, just had to accept it…for this meal. He’d bring some condiments when he dropped by next.

He stared at the meat greying, then browning in the pan.

_“It’s better ta eat things th’way mother nature provides ‘em, Raze. Don’t waste the kindling in broad daylight. Eat it raw.”_

He shuddered and slid each portion onto its own plate. He heard Lester’s breathing change when the guy woke up. Raze gave him a minute to get himself oriented, then returned to the room with the two plates.

Lester had stretched and groaned, and moved to sit up on the couch. He was peering across the room at the titles on one of Tabitha’s bookshelves.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you reading those, if you kept them in top condition and put them back _exactly_ where you got ‘em from,” Raze commented with a shit-eating grin. He sat on the couch next to Lester once again and offered the human his dish.

He took it and prodded at the meat with the steak knife Raze had provided.

“Figured giving you that or a butter knife, you could do the same sorta damage. So why bother trying the butter knife?”

Lester shrugged and cut off a piece of the meat and chewed it. His face scrunched up. “Liver’s a nasty texture, Flake.”

“It’s the richest part of the animal, apparently. I think it’s not bad. But it was about the only thing in the fridge - unless you like kale smoothies that have so much shit jam-packed in that they taste like absolute trash.”

He frowned at Raze.

Raze rolled his eyes. “Dude, she makes the shit with cayenne, cod liver oil, some other oil that’s supposed to be healthy, cinnamon and something else, avocado. It tastes like…like…sewer by the time she’s done. And she just chugs it down ‘cause she has no clue how nasty it is.”

“Health freak?”

“Hypochondriac. Which is fucking weird, since she can’t get sick anyway.”

“Doesn’t have to be rational to just…be. Where is Miss Glass anyways?”

The shifter sighed and checked his phone. Still no response. “She _was_ dumping a body. No clue what she’s up to now. She wouldn’t be on a fucking plane, though, ‘cause with both of us in her house she’ll stay in town."

 “A body, huh?”

“Yeah. She brought this rich blond young guy in and fucked him up with a game of Operation. Drank, too.”

“And she didn’t bother t’share.” Lester hummed, grinning away in contrast to the disappointment in his statement.

“Yeah, well. Tabby’s pretty shy about her personal tastes.”

“You talk too much, Flake,” he muttered, lip curling for no apparent reason. He then sighed and leaned back, impaled a piece of meat with his fork.

Raze shrugged. “I’m just answering questions – if y’don’t want spoilers, don’t ask. Besides, most of what I know is from observation or snooping. She doesn’t trust anybody enough to share her _real_ secrets.”

“What about you, Flake?” Lester turned his disconcerting gaze to Raze. “Ya trust anybody ta keep your secrets?”

“Only disposable people. You?”

“Heh. Same. But to me, everybody’s disposable,” he grinned.

“Except Daken,” Raze responded, raising his brows.

“That’s up for debate since the fuckhead decided to put _you_ in charge of killin’ me.”

“Uh huh.” The shifter didn’t believe for one second that the two of ‘em were done with each other. “Y’know. You’re technically my step-dad now.”

Lester choked and shot him a _look_. Raze smirked back to show just how _hilarious_ he thought that was. “Oh joy,” he monotoned. “Ya better not fall for me like the rest of ya sicko daddies.”

“Aw, that sucks. Already did! Too fuckin’ late,” Raze rolled his eyes. Lester smacked the back of his head. He frowned and rubbed at it. “Hey!”

“Don’t be a moron, shit-for-brains.”

“Don’t hit me, rimsucker. It was a _joke._ Jeez.”

“I barely grazed you.”

Raze huffed. “Only Victor gets to hit me for no reason, so fuck off.”  

“Y’take shit like that from Victor?” he raised a brow at the kid.

The shifter moved around on the couch, mostly looking at his plate. “The guy’s been training me since I was four. So.” He shrugged. “It’s not really a problem.”

Lester scoffed and rolled his eyes. “So you’re happy to be his bitch, that it?”

He laughed at that. “Vic’s _my_ bitch. The physical stuff…kinda…” he thought of how to phrase it, for once actually putting effort into being tactful. “Dunno. Doesn’t bother me from him anymore. And he and I both know I can overpower him if I wanna. Have before.”

“You _like_ it,” Lester summarized. “So ya let him get away with it. Fucked up, Flake.”

“Yeah, well. What’s new. I’ll put him in the ground one of these days.”

“Nothin’ as fun as pseudo-patricide, ‘cept patricide.”

“Nah. Matricide was better than patricide’ll be.”

Lester snickered. “Tell me ‘bout that, Flake. How’d you manage ta put your mama down?”

“First time she was off her top. Mercy kill. No challenge. I liked her more at the time, but figured  out the shit she was up to later. She definitely didn’t deserve that nice clean first time,” Raze scowled. Then he laughed. “Second time, though – _that_ was way more fun…”

He was about to go on, but heard a key slide into the front door’s handle. Seconds later, Glass stepped in. She stared at the two men on the couch, as if she’d expected Lester to be back in the box or had forgotten about them entirely. Then, she closed the door, deactivated the security panel, and turned back.

Her eyes fell to their plates, nostrils widening slightly. “I didn’t say you could eat that.”

“Tough,” Raze responded bluntly. “The fuck were you?”

“…picking up someone for a job. Would you assist me in carrying her in later?”

“Two in one day? That’s high-production for you,” he commented. “Sure.”

Tabitha tensed slightly, glancing to Lester. She hadn’t exactly wanted him to know about the first one. But…she couldn’t have explained why, either.

“Where d’ya want them?” Raze asked. He set down his plate and stood. Tabitha passed him her car keys.

“She's in the trunk.” She glanced down the hall, then looked to the side. Glanced at Lester again, who was watching with a decent amount of interest. “Put her in the kill room.”

He raised a brow and looked between the two serial killers. “Oookay then. Cuff ‘er?”

“I’ve already bound her as I wish. Just put her in the room.”

Raze nodded and left, clearing the security panel first. Lester thought that was interesting. How many people had access to that?

With Raze gone again, the two stared. Tabitha was still rigid, but Lester kept as relaxed as he was before. He cut off a piece of liver and ate it, chewing slowly and watching her.

Tabitha looked away and took a breath in the short break. Rather than return eye contact again, she started moving slowly to follow her usual habits. She took her housekeys from her jacket pocket, and set them in a decorative bowl on a bookshelf. She slid the jacket off and hung it from a coat-hanger between the bookshelves. She was about to remove her weapons as per usual, but hesitated.

“Ya know, if I wanna kill ya, it won’t matter where your weapons are or if ya have any.”

His voice was even and made the hair stand on the nape of her neck. Tabitha wanted to turn to watch him, to make sure he was where she could sense he was. Confirm it with her own eyes. But she didn’t. She walked to a wall, opened a compartment well-camouflaged, and slid her weapons from her form. She set them down in a very organized manner, as if she always put them in the exact same places. She did.

Four throwing knives on the underside of her forearms – three right, one left. Two daggers from outside her thighs. Several small blades tucked by her ankles. Pistol. Two mags. Six thin disks with varying color coding.

Lester whistled lowly. “Packin’.”

“You’re not that surprised. You could tell before I removed them,” she pointed out. She unclipped a different disk that had looked like a decorative button on her pants.

“’Course. What’s that one?”

Glass turned to him, hesitating. She walked over, maintaining a good three feet distance, and pulled a tab on the underside of the disk, as far out as it would go. She depressed a slightly raised part in the center of the disk, and the tab receded, rolling back into the disk. “Choke wire.”

He grinned, teeth bare. “Nifty.”

“Convenient, yes.”

“Those other things? Flat disks with the colors.”

“Bio-toxin dispensers. I designed them myself.”

“Ya design a lotta weapons, Missy?”

She licked her lips, a bit anxious about sharing. “Yes. I design a lot of _things._ I don’t _sell_ bio-weapons – I don’t care for the chaos that tends to produce.”

Glass returned to her compartment, placed the disk in its own spot, closed the compartment. Then she went to the door, and stood a foot in front of and to the left of it. The door opened on the left, swung open to the outside right. Bullseye observed all of this. She listened there, and opened the door when she heard familiar footsteps five feet away. Raze carried in what looked like a thin, rolled futon. It was just the woman in a duvet cover. Glass looked outside, then closed the door and reset her panel.

Raze carried the target into the ‘kitchen pantry.’

Glass and Bullseye locked eyes again. He smiled. Her eyes widened with realization of everything she’d just revealed.

_No. No no no no no. I knew this was a terrible idea. Raze should’ve kept him in his own fucking house._

Tabitha quivered, and Lester stood and walked over to her with all the calm grace of a leopard.

“Shhhhhh. It’s _fine,”_ he said with a smile. That was. Real. As real a smile as she’d seen in a long time. He was absolutely _delighted._ _That_ was terrifying, considering his sociopathic nature.

 _Henry smiled like that. So cruel._ A flush rose to her cheeks.

He was _close._ Glass flinched as he ran two fingers down her cheek, then just below her ear and down her neck. She knew the anatomy there intimately. He passed pressure points, following the path of the internal and common carotid artery. He leaned in by her ear, and Tabitha tensed enough that the shaking ceased. “Ask me again.”

“What?” she whispered, barely a breath, mind racing to find what he was looking for.

“I want to hear it~” he said in a sing-song voice. His hand moved to cover her throat and squeeze ever so slightly. She swallowed rapidly and let out a shuddering breath. It was big. Covered her slender neck. He could choke her to death so easily. He could-

_Oh._

“Kill me,” she barely made out, heart pounding. Bullseye could feel it in her neck, the rapidly increasing _thump-thump, thump-thump_. It got his blood running. This was the most fun he’d had in weeks, and she was ever so pretty this way. Practically feline.

Glass could smell her own fear. Her own arousal. She’d squeeze her eyes shut with the shame, but she dared not look away from his.

“What was that, Missy?” his grip tightened suddenly, instantly constricting her airway. Tabitha only jerked once in his grasp. Her lips formed the words, but they came out as a croak. “I can’t hear you~”

She set her right hand on his wrist and signed out the letters. _K-I-L-L M-E._

He laughed raucously and shoved her back against the wall, pinning her by the neck. “Ah, ah. Bad girl. No cheating, now.”

Neither noticed Raze in the hallway. Neither heard him slink away to a guest bedroom upstairs, leaving them to their fucked-up little predatory dance.

Glass pressed her own head back, pushing her neck forward into his palm. She tried to sound the words again, but they came out as a wet garble, completely incoherent. He let her go. Tabitha slumped down, knees buckling to keep herself up against the wall. She clutched her neck. “Kill me,” she said the moment she had breath, her voice rough.

Bullseye leaned down, tipped her chin up. She looked at his eyes, then mouth, then eyes again. The obsession just _bled_ from her. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering giving her the kiss she was so badly looking for. Instead, he brushed his thumb over her chin and met her eyes.

She stopped breathing while he made her wait.

“No.”

So many emotions flooded her eyes in sequence, unlike the blankness last time they did this. Pain, anger, confusion, resentment. It settled in a sort of determined resignation, like _she_ could convince him to kill her one day, and _she_ was willing to wait in the meanwhile. Lester chuckled, amused.

He pushed his hand through her tidy long hair, fingers pressing at the scalp, mostly to see how she reacted. Her lips parted and she tilted her head up more, baring her neck  _instinctively._ The neck that would be sporting a lovely bruise for the next several days. He pulled at her hair.

She choked back something between a moan and a cry of pain, legs shaking under her.

“Lookie here, frail,” he hummed. “This ain’t about what _you_ want, geddit? _Maybe_ , you’ll have one lucky day when what _you_ want and what _I_ want’ll overlap. An’ there ain’t nothin’ you can do ta speed that day along.”

She looked like she didn’t believe him, which was funny. Really, _really_ funny. He was _Bullseye,_ and she didn’t have a fuckin’ _clue_ who she was dealing with if she didn’t believe him.

“I understand,” she said.

He laughed and yanked on her hair, pulling pure _pain_ from her this time. “I don’t think ya do, Missy. But, if ya behave, that won’t _really_ matter.”

Tabitha looked like she was going to respond, but like she wasn’t sure it would go over well. Lester paused a moment. “Say what you were gonna.”

“I- it was just…” she flushed and looked away, shaking her head since he’d loosened his grip.

“Don’t fuckin’ _bore_ me,“ he snapped.

She jolted, then glared at him. “I was going to say, ‘Yes, sir.’”

He snorted and let go of her hair like it was sewer shit. Glass slowly straightened to standing, not quite meeting his eyes but certainly keeping an eye on him.

“Excuse me, please,” she said coolly, not really asking. But she still wouldn’t move without being permitted. Lester waved at her and she walked past him. She picked up the plates on the coffeetable and took them to the kitchen. Scraped Raze’s remainders into the garbage. Checked to make sure Lester wasn’t watching when she ate the rest of his.

He wasn’t watching. He was still staring at the wall.

Raze came down shortly thereafter. He eyed Tabitha as she did the dishes, immediately noticing the state of her neck. And her hair. He knew, though, that she wouldn’t talk. He continued to the living room to see Lester standing in one place, not moving.

“Hey. You gotta take your meds.”

He didn’t respond. Raze sighed and extended his arm, patted the guy’s shoulder. “Hey, _fucker._ Wake-“

Lester grabbed his hand and twisted his thumb in the _wrong_ direction, quicker than you could say ‘good night.’

“Fucking bitch mother of _ass-“_ he yelped, yanking his hand back.

He didn’t have the decency to look embarrassed or apologetic. “Oops. Yer own fault for touchin’ me, kid.”

“Duh, I know that,” Raze retorted snidely. He shook his hand, and everything was back in place. He pulled a couple bottles from his side. “You got pills to take, and you need to drink water. Kitchen, now.”

Lester shrugged and followed him docilely. He took the three tabs he was given and swallowed them down, following them with the rest of the glass. Raze watched. Tabitha feigned ignorance of the presences in her kitchen.

“Great. Bed time.” Raze snapped his fingers and pointed at the door to the kill room. “She’s got cots if you want. I’ll move one in.”

“Cot,” he repeated, apathetic. “Sure.”

“Okay. Go wait, I’ll bring it.”

“Don’t touch our prisoner yet, please,” Tabitha murmured. Lester looked at her. She looked back. “We’ll work on it tomorrow. It's sedated for the night, shouldn’t cause you trouble.”

He shrugged again, and walked over to the door. Didn’t really want to be in there. Cold. Empty.

Raze walked over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, pushed the door open. “Nine hours, tops,” he said quietly. “I’ll let you back out in the morning, okay? You need sleep. I need sleep. Tabitha – she’ll be on our schedules for a while. When we’re conscious, you can come out.”

He walked in with Lester, who stared blankly at the body on the floor. “Kay. I’ll be right back.”

When Raze returned, the guy hadn’t moved a muscle. He laid out a cot on a thick layer of memory foam, then a sheet, a pillow, another sheet, and a duvet. He put a spare blanket in the corner and a change of clothes beside it. He pulled back the top layers.

“Lester? How are you feeling?” Raze asked when he was done, coming back to the man. Lester was _far_ away. Raze sighed and pressed his hands against the man’s chest, guiding him back to the cot. “Sit low, there. Bed’s ready.”

He did sit, but didn’t move from there. Raze rubbed the back of his own neck. “Geez, dude. Do I gotta undress you and tuck you in?”

He crouched in front of Lester and waved a hand in front of his face. No response. Okay, well that was just _fucked._ He took initiative and got the guy’s socks off. Didn’t do anything with his pants. Pulled his shirt off. Pushed him back and covered him with the sheet and blanket. Raze figured he should stick around, too. He leaned back against the wall, at Lester’s head, and dragged his hand over his forehead and scalp in a petting motion. Eventually, the guy seemed to come out of his reverie. Raze just rested his hand on his forehead, then.

“You were totally gone, there, dude.”

Lester was at a loss for what to say, but when Raze started up his petting again, he closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re fuckin’ weird, Flake,” he stated, no real energy behind it.

“Uh huh.”

Soon enough, the assassin was passed out. Raze left the room, and fixed Tabitha’s light settings to be a bit warmer in there. The only thing worse than waking up in pitch black was waking up with blinding white light in the eyes. He put himself to sleep.

 


	6. Conscientious Predator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is like...almost entirely different from previous chapters. Bit of a diversion. Bit of a heart-to-heart. Bit of smut. Bit of fluff.  
> Yup.  
> Next chapter will be back to the usual crazy. 
> 
> Reference to Casanova was in All-New X-men if I remember correctly (may have been Amazing instead). Hank goes through an awful lot of shit during that comic run. So do other people - I think we lose Beak in there, for instance. But it was good plot and good art (for the most part).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple important sidenotes for plot:  
> \- Raze had Hank do his paternity test, so Hank knows...but hasn't told anyone by Raze's request. They've been dating for a few years. Work/personal lives separate. And Hank knows Raze is polysexual.  
> \- Glass and Raze have a pretty strictly BDSM sexual thing.  
> Pretty sure that's all the semi-vital info.

Raze had been on the brink of unconsciousness when the approach of Tabitha’s footsteps woke him. He kept his eyes closed so she wouldn’t see their yellow glow. He could sense her standing in the doorway. She could sense that he was awake. He waited for her to quit staring and leave, but it became apparent that she was _waiting._ He sighed and sat up, staring back – eyes eerie in the darkness.

“What?”

“You haven’t fucked me in a year.”

The shifter blinked twice and shook his head as if to clear it. “Come again?”

“You. Haven’t. Fucked me. For over twelve months,” she repeated with distinct annunciation.

He reached over to turn the lamp on the nightstand on. And gave her a _look._ This, seriously? What the hell brought it on?  “I heard you. We’ve definitely had sex _several_ times.”

“No,” she shook her head. “ _Specifically,_ you’ve not fucked me. You’ve dominated, played, and substituted toys. But you’ve not fucked me.”

Raze was taken aback and thought about that statement. _Huh._ She was right. His brow furrowed.

“I’m not much bothered,” she went on, “since it’s still been satisfying. I just want to know what’s wrong with you.”

“Well, that’s not blunt at all,” he muttered.

She blinked. “I thought it was very blunt.”

He sighed. “Sarcasm. It _was_ very blunt.”

“Are you gay?” Tabitha asked directly. _‘…been runnin’ down faggot lane since his last girlfriend,’_ Lester had told her that first day. She assumed that was the mysterious _Lee._ Not that she was jealous – he’d have to matter to her to make her jealous.

Raze laughed out loud at the question.

She tilted her head. “What’s humorous about my inquiry?”

“Nothing, really. Your bluntness is hilarious. And-“ he laughed again and shook his head, then leaned it back against the headboard. “Y’know how many people have asked me that lately? Less directly, natch.”

“No. I do not survey your social experiences.”

“A lot. At least…five in as many months.”

“Perhaps you behave as if you are. Refusing to participate in sex with a woman is a strong suggestion of lack of attraction to them,” she pointed out.

Raze sighed and stared at Tabitha, looked her over from head to toe. She shuffled and flushed under the gaze. He knew she didn’t like to be looked at – too self-conscious.

“You’re beautiful, Tabitha. I mean that. I know you hate your skin and your face, but your skin is inviting and your face carries your best features. Your body’s shapely and lovely. And your eyes?” he didn’t break eye contact with her for a moment, as embarrassed as she was. “Man, whoever told you that thing about your eyes was a _psychopath,_ ‘cause your eyes are warm and whole and when you hit ecstasy it rivals the _best_ sunsets. So trust me, it isn’t you. Not specifically.”

Tabitha stared, tears close to surface. She glanced to the side and blinked them away, searching for a response in the meantime. “I will have to take your word,” she said through a constricted throat. She cleared it and corrected her posture. “So. You are gay, then?”

“Not…exactly. I like one…specific type of girl,” he hesitated. She waited. “I like…young, thin. Fragile. Uh…” he ran his hand through his hair. “Gullible, if I’m honest. And kind.”

“Ah,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “Is your taste in men so specific?”

“Hell no,” he scoffed. “I dunno that there’s a guy in the universe I wouldn’t do.”

“So you’re attracted to men sexually, and women…what do you desire to do to these, fragile, gullible, kind girls?” She asked. When he hesitated and fidgeted a hand, she tilted her head. “ _You_ of all people hardly ever feel so ashamed.”

He winced and swallowed. “They’re…so… _good._ I want to…bury inside of them. Their whole…just totally…like…” he made a frustrated sound, hands clenching.

“Devour? Consume? Fill?”

“Yeah. Not…destroy. But I feel like if I found a way to…to put this…this _thing_ , to _fill_ them like I want to…it’d consume and destroy ‘em in the process, y’know? They wouldn’t be _good_ anymore, they’d be _filthy_ and _broken_ like this _thing._ ”

“Hm.” Tabitha leaned against the door frame, observing the various expressions play across his face as he talked. Frustrated. Wanting. Bitter. Hateful. Confused. Disgusted. Guilty. Nothing strange to Raze, really, but rarely so condensed. “You desire men for sex and companionship. You desire women as _victims_.”

“Victims?” Raze cringed. Had anyone else said that, he’d shove it in their face and tell them to go fuck themselves. But he’d learned that Glass was hardly ever _mistaken_ in her analyses. And she was discreet with shit like this.

“Yes.” She nodded matter-of-factly. “You’re craving something to pour into and destroy. It’s a sort of obsession, I suppose. You _select_ one brand as a serial killer or similar predator does. You _are_ a predator, you know.”

“But I _like_ those girls. They’re the only girls I _like._ ”

“Yes. You appreciate them enough to outpour all that’s inside you. You must _know_ your own depths by now, Raze,” she tilted her head at him again, lips pulled into a tight grimace of a smile. “If _I_ can glimpse your monster, you see it fully – you hide so well. How does a wolf pack pick from a herd, Darkholme?”

The shifter felt cold. He swallowed, seeing the puzzle she was building for him. “They pick the youngest, oldest, and the sick. They take the weak.”

“Mm. Your taste for women is like so.”

He felt thoroughly disgusted, and it showed on his face.

Glass rolled her eyes. “The wolf knows its capacity to destroy and contains it through selection. Your entire paradigm is built on survival of the fittest, is it not? You oughtn’t feel so ‘bad’ for thinning out the weak in the herd. I’d say it’s rather natural for you.”

Raze frowned at her, thinking that through. It took him longer to process what she said next.

“Anyhow, I’ve no complaints about our current contract. You’re certainly a satisfactory dom, fucking or not. But, should you wish to negotiate or remove sex from the contract, I will consider new terms.”

“It’s fine. I don’t have to desire you to fill that role,” he waved off the offer.

“Excellent. Excuse me.” She left at Raze’s nod. He looked blankly at the empty doorway.

“Well, fuck,” he scowled. Daken would definitely rub this in his face. _See, I told you you were gay,_ in his most condescending tone.

_Ugh._

That wasn’t what kept him awake, though. Hours later, when Glass had finally fallen asleep and New York was as quiet as it would ever be, he left through the basement’s exit to the sewers. Disgusting, but safest. He traveled to the nearest grate and slipped like liquid through the bars.

\----

Hank wasn’t sleeping that night either, but for very different reasons. He had a formula to work on – something to help a student gain better control of a rather out-of-hand mutation. He was well-absorbed in his work when a familiar scent brought a smile to his face.

“Good evening, Raze. Or is it morning by now?” he said, polishing the lenses of his spectacles and checking the clock as he turned. “My, my. Oh-three-hundred. I suppose you’re here to insist that I catch a few winks?”

“I certainly ought to be. Catch this one,” Raze winked and smiled warmly.

Hank smiled, a twinkle in his eye that the shifter never grew tired of seeing. “That was unforgivably corny.”

Raze pushed his hands into his pockets. Then he pulled them out, apparently not sure where to put them. He took a breath. “Would you uh…would you mind a hug?”

“Raze, if I ever deny a friend a hug, I’ll have gone stark raving mad.”

He was warm, big, and comforting. Raze hugged him back tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Eventually, he relaxed.

“Care to talk?” Hank’s rumbling voice eased into the comfortable silence. Raze pulled back, and Hank’s hands moved to his waist.

“If you care to sit.”

“Ah, I see. It’s a long conversation.” Hank did sit, though, in his rolling chair.

Raze took the liberty of perching on his lap, legs swung over the chair’s arm, one hand on Hank’s chest and the other on his cheek. Hank held his hip and rested a relaxed hand on his thigh.

“Is that genuinely comfortable for you?” the Doc asked, amused at the way Raze had twisted into that odd position much like a cat. Liquid.

Raze laughed and rubbed his nose beside the other man’s. “Yeah, actually. Doncha know how flexible I am?” he waggled his brows, pulling a laugh from Hank.

“I’m sure I could never _forget.”_

“Mmhm,” the shifter smiled. They rested like that, Raze’s fingers alternating between combing back Hank’s hair, grooming the fur of his neck, scratching by his feline ears. Hank purred softly, claws kneading into the shifter’s skin just so.

“I have to take you up on your offer,” Raze finally said, sighing.

“Oh?” The doctor shifted a bit on the chair, cleared his voice of the rasp that the purr had left. He watched Raze’s expression – the younger man looked ashamed…and quickly recovered his exterior to something neutral. “It does still stand.”

“I don’t want to ruin what we have, though. I know the facet of our relationship where we’re apparent enemies is difficult enough to the intimate and friendly facets. And I-“ he swallowed tightly and looked away for the briefest moment before he met Hank’s also yellow eyes. “-I’d rather you didn’t know certain things. I want to still be trustworthy, to not be a…well, when you see me, I’d rather not look like a monster. Worse, I stand behind what I’ve said before – I don’t want to burden you with problems that aren’t yours. I know you have too many of those already.”

Hank considered Raze’s words and the meanings behind them carefully. “As I have explained before, I _am_ a doctor. I’ve not only taken an oath to do no harm, Raze, but to do my utmost to _heal._ So, why don’t we look at these problems like wounds or viruses, rather than permanent features or incurable diseases? Hm?”

He hesitated, still thinking of excuses for why he shouldn’t talk. There were _so many_ reasons – not least of all because Hank was still an X-man. Raze trusted him near-totally, but there was always Raven’s voice in his head insisting that no one could be trusted completely, that people will stab you in the back when convenient. But it was _Hank._ He knew the guy’s heart. He knew his weaknesses, too, said Daken’s voice in his head. He could always blackmail Hank from telling anyone...or just break him completely.

No. He _cared_ about Hank. He wouldn’t use him, wouldn’t break him, and he’d trust him. Shakily, Raze nodded. “O-okay.”

Hank smiled and squeezed his thigh a bit. “Where would you like to start?”

He took a breath. “Cannibalism. I keep- well I- sometimes, if a body’s already dead, I think about eating them. Not-“ he said quickly, as though Hank had been about to cut him off (which he hadn’t, too surprised by the confession). “ _Not_ because I enjoy it. I don’t. I _hate_ the whole…the…the taste isn’t bad, actually,” he said quietly. “But I don’t- It’s just…gross. I don’t know why.”

The doctor hesitated, seeming uncomfortable. Raze swallowed. “Look, if this is going to be too much, that’s okay-“

“It isn’t too much,” Hank interrupted gently. He cleared his throat. Casanova came to mind – his forced feral bout where he took down and tore into a deer, devouring it raw. Hank had been disgusted with himself for months after – very nearly on the verge of psychological collapse after the wringer Nova had put him through. He kept the animal part of his mutation under tight control, always correcting it if he glanced at a person and first saw _meat_. “Firstly, it’s gross because you’re eating a fully sentient _person_ rather than an animal. Our sense of people’s value is deeply ingrained in us, going back thousands if not hundreds of thousands of years.”

Raze considered not voicing his question, but he figured he _needed_ to. “What if it’s just a human, though? I know your stance, but…consider it hypothetically. What if humans have no value? _Maybe_ they could be valuable as slaves. Look, if that’s how I see things…well…what’s to stop them from being _cattle?”_

Hank’s expression darkened slightly. _“That_ may very well be one root of your problem, Raze. And _that_ may be exactly the question you’ll have to consider: If you choose to see them as non-valuable, what’s to stop them from being cattle? Now, if you’re so concerned about your cravings, I’d say you have a _conscience_ that’s feeling rather violated – you may want to listen. It will likely help you avoid flesh. And it may even tell you something about value and to whom value applies.”

The shifter considered his statements while playing gently with Hank’s fur, near his chin. “I’ve never really considered whether I have a conscience.”

He snorted softly. That would explain a great deal, now wouldn’t it? “The discomfort you feel about cannibalism indicates the existence of your conscience. It operates something like a 6th sense – you may want to consider it simply for the advantage that sense may offer.”

Raze hummed and nodded a bit.

“Once you accept your desire for what your conscience deems…wrong, let’s say, you’ll have to resist letting your guilt condemn you miserably. Your mutation has likely played a role in your cravings,” Hank continued cautiously. “As well as Sabretooth’s influence.”

“Trust me, Victor’s the first thing that comes to mind when I crave,” he murmured. “It feels like I disappoint him every time I refuse to give in. I _know_ he wouldn’t care even if he knew, but…” he shrugged.

“If I may say so, Victor’s standards are far from ideal. He isn’t the sort of person I’d recommend trying to please with your moral decisions,” McCoy responded, sounding a bit peeved.

Raze laughed at that, a genuine and familiar smile gracing his face. Hank soon smiled back, happy to see the younger man in a better mood. “Y’know, that’s the politest way I’ve ever heard someone say that Vic’s a bloodthirsty piece of shit who oughta rot in hell.”

Hank laughed in turn. “You’ll never hear anyone trump that, will you?” They laughed together for a bit, and when the mood had returned to comfortable silence, Hank spoke again. “What else?”

The shifter hummed and moved around in Hank’s lap until he straddled the man, arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Y’know, Doc? I think that’s good for one night. I think _you_ need to relax a bit before bed.”

He pulled Hank’s bowtie loose and held each end as he shimmied off the doctor’s legs, pulling him up out of the chair and toward the man’s bed.

“If you _insist,”_ he responded with a smile and purr.

Raze could hear his heartbeat quickening. He sat on the bed once there, and pulled the strip of fabric from Hank’s neck. “Kneel,” he said, pointing between his spread legs.

Hank raised a brow, but did as instructed. Raze leaned forward and stroked his cheek, kissing him chastely before he started to push the man’s lab coat off. He popped each button open of Hank’s vest, then each button on his dress shirt, and stood to pull those off, too. Standing happened to put his groin right by Hank’s face, but an embarrassed little moan from the older man told Raze all he needed to know about that.

He threaded his fingers into Hank’s hair, pushing the man’s face more firmly against his stomach. Hank breathed heavily and whined, overwhelmed with need already. Soon, Raze pulled gently on his scalp.

“Stand up, hun,” he murmured. Hank flushed at the term of endearment – those were fairly new despite their last couple years of… _friendship._ Nimble fingers worked his belt open and off, curling it and setting it on the bed for potential use later. Soon, his pants were pulled slowly down his legs, and Hank watched in wonder as the shifter knelt and lifted his calves one at a time to remove the last of the fabric.

If you’d told Hank two and a half years ago that the immature little asshole who kidnapped Nightcrawler and strapped him to a bomb, attempted to box all humans into a little bubble universe, and stabbed his own ~~father~~  *grandfather in the chest upon setting eyes on him (though he supposed Raze could be excused for that, since Logan was…well…Logan)…would be on his knees caressing him with all the care of a long-standing lover…

Hank would’ve bluntly told you to go to hell, thank you very much.

“Oh, my~” wonder turned into pure pleasure when Raze slid halfway down Hank’s cock, cheeks hollowed and tongue rubbing slowly over the underside.

Pleasure turned into frustration not long thereafter, when Raze held the base with his fingers, shifted his fingers into _polished wood,_ and detached them – leaving a cockring settled snugly there. Hank groaned miserably, and Raze chuckled – the vibrations were _heavenly_ – before he forced his throat open around the good doctor’s cock and took him to the root.

Hank’s hips stuttered. Raze came up for breath, sliding off Hank's length with a delicious slurping noise. He grinned up at the older man, playful and affectionate. Hank stared down at the shifter, struck by how debauched and _lovely_ he was – bright red hair messier than usual, lips swollen and glistening. 

“Lay on your stomach with a pillow under your hips, and spread your legs,” Raze instructed, somehow maintaining as much command on his knees as he had in previous scenarios when _Hank_ was the one kneeling. The older man arranged the pillow and pressed his painfully hard and reddened cock against the soft linen. He looked over his shoulder at Raze when the young man's slender fingers squeezed his solid thighs, then worked up to knead and spread his cheeks. Raze winked and leaned down, and Hank's eyes widened with realization. He was moaning even before the shifter’s tongue laved hot and slippery over his rim. That powerful little muscle moved strongly against Hank's pucker, and he was practically a drooling, rutting mess by the time Raze breached his entrance. When he _did…_ Well. Hank was seeing stars, cock unable to release.

Raze laughed and didn’t let up, fucking him with seven inches of thin, slippery tongue that changed now and then in texture. He played endlessly with Hank’s prostate, and only after the third orgasm and _plenty_ of begging did he turn Hank over and fill the man with his cock…Sizably larger than it naturally was.

When Raze finally removed the ring, Hank tensed like a bowstring, quivering with the effort of holding back.

“ _Come for me, Hank,”_ Raze murmured in his ear, then. Hank responded with a beautifully desperate cry, tidily kept claws ripping through smooth blue skin, body shaking, cock spurting thick, creamy fluid over his fur, insides clenching impossibly around Raze’s length. Several hard thrusts later, Raze came in him.

After the post-orgasm haze, the shifter licked every last bit of cum from Hank’s stomach, chest and rim, then fetched a wet cloth to finish the job. The cloth ended up on the floor. Raze ended up straddling one of Hank’s legs, practically lying on the doctor’s chest. Hank ended up purring while Raze worked all the best spots by his ears, causing him to doze off after some playful banter.

They slept in, and had coffee, breakfast, and a pleasant chat in the morning. Raze took his leave shortly before noon.

When Raze returned to the Glass house an hour later, he felt well-rested, centered and calm, prepared for the day ahead.

That was _before_ he saw the kitchen. 


	7. The Early Bird Gets the Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the male prisoner became a female one - I updated last chapter with that detail.  
> Tabitha's very particular, and her character wasn't cooperating before: the prisoner was just wrong. Now she's right. Glass is playing games she shouldn't be with risky people. She tends to do that. Bit catty that way. 
> 
> The focus isn't as much on Lester in this one - I hope to rectify that in future chapters, lol. 
> 
> Raze needs to make up his mind.

**_Early that day…_ **

 

Tabitha woke up late and in a cold sweat. She swallowed and blinked away the dream that stuck with her, then stared up at the ceiling for a while. She thought mostly about Henry. She thought a little about Mr Connors, made note to check on him again. Then she thought about Bullseye.

She looked over at the clock. Hm. Four AM. She’d anticipated waking at two AM.

There went two hours of productivity. She groaned softly and squeezed her eyes shut, then rubbed her eyes with her palms. _Dammit._

She hated this daylight schedule – nothing felt right. Sunshine bothered her. Day people had irritating energy. Her senses felt dull. Her dreams hadn’t been bad this night, but generally when she slept at night her heightened senses made her nightmares worse.

She stretched out in bed, then sat up slowly and swung her bare feet over the side of the bed. Her gown slipped back into place when she stood, and she pulled a robe around herself before combing fingers through her hair. She went downstairs without turning any lights on and drank a glass of water in the kitchen.

The basement door was left ajar. Smelled like Raze. She took a loaded pistol from where it was stowed in a kitchen cabinet, then walked down the pitch black stairs. In complete darkness, she saw shapes clearly in black and white and felt temperature variations vividly enough to picture in color spectrum. She walked past the false front behind the laundry room, then down the next, short set of stairs to her lab. She inhaled through her nose, then wrinkled it. He’d left through the sewer. His scent was an hour stale.

Fine, then. Raze was gone. Better that way – out of her hair. Tabitha packed a bag of equipment and carried it up as she returned to the ground floor.  

She replaced the gun in her cupboard and set the bag by the kill room door. Then she proceeded to the living room, where the moonlight cast soft whitish shadows through her curtained windows. She drew the heavier set of curtains across, effectively blocking the little light. Then she switched on a dull yellow lamp, which cast the warm-toned room in mild light. She selected a book on anatomy from her shelves – one which she’d read dozens of times before – and studied for an hour. Then she logged into her computer, checked her servers and encrypted messages. Nothing new on the black market that appealed to her. She checked her cover business cell phone, responded to several of her hotel managers’ questions. She took note of which VIPs had used their cards to stay at her chain. She checked the video feeds she had in Connor’s house. Everything was operating fine.

At 6am, she turned off the lamp and went upstairs to change. She returned to the living room to strap on her weapons, then went to the kitchen. She turned a similar light level on in there and looked in the fridge for breakfast for two. There was no need to feed their new prisoner. Food was wasted on such a short lifespan. She’d remember to bring it water, though.

Hm. She didn’t _have_ much food. That wasn’t unusual, but she’d need to keep more on hand if she was going to tend Lester’s physical requirements. She made a list – eggs, onion, beef, more kale, cream, salami, cheese. She brewed a pot of coffee, and cooked up two portions of liver with kale.

At 7am, sharp, Tabitha brought in a bottle of water and her bag of tools. It was exactly the kind of bag you’d expect a torturer to bring to a party: black, menacing, reminiscent of an old-fashioned doctor. Raze, if he were there, would’ve felt the sinister aura of it. But he wasn’t there, and no one could interrupt them. She set the bag down carelessly, causing the metal implements to jostle mutedly. Lester didn’t stir. Neither did the new prisoner. She set the water by the prisoner.

She left, and left the door open while she brought the two plates from the kitchen. She left Lester’s by the cot, her own by the bag. Then she retrieved the coffee.

Tabitha froze in the doorway, nerves on the fritz. Lester had sat up and held his plate in his lap. He looked over at her. She stared back, before making up her mind. In or out? In, of course. That had been the plan.

“Good morning, Mozart,” she nodded politely, then stepped in and shut the door behind her. Walked to him, extended the mug.

“Morning, little Miss,” he responded, then squinted at the mug. “You read Calvin and Hobbes comics?”

She stared for a moment, confused. _Oh._ The mug was from Henry’s collection. This one was white and had a picture on its side of a blond cartoon boy and a lot of demolished, bloody snowmen strewn about. “I don’t.”

“Raze read ‘em?”

“I doubt it.”

Lester shrugged and took the mug, sipped on the hot liquid. Glass sat with her own plain brown mug and sipped also. When he moved on to his food, so did she.

“It was Henry’s,” she volunteered the information when she put together why he was asking. She supposed dead cartoon snowmen didn’t suit her. It likely had an element of humor that she missed entirely. Henry particularly liked that mug. He had a sense of humor. He’d strewn many bodies across his lab in equally haphazard fashion.

Lester hummed. “You mentioned him before. Seemed like he had a sense of humor.”

“He did.”

“What’s the story, Missy? He broke your heart, you killed him?”

She set her fork down quietly and swallowed. “No. I won’t kill him. He didn’t break me,” close to a lie. “He just left one day. Disappeared with some of his things. Left his phone. I haven’t seen him in two years. I’m not exactly looking, either.” She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly.

“And?” he asked, then took a large mouthful of food.

She tilted her head, not sure what he was asking.

“Go on,” he prompted, muffled by the food.

 _Oh. Just…more?_  She shifted to lean back against the wall, then set her plate on the floor and lit a cigarette. “He…I owed him. He broke me out of an institute. I’d…snapped and fed on a nurse, apparently. I wasn’t really…ready to leave. I couldn’t get my head straight enough to try, and the cravings were terrible. He broke me out. Took samples in return.” She took a couple long drags. “I became rather…hm…”

**_Obsessed. You were obsessed, like a little bitch._ **

She shivered and pushed the Void back. “Attached. He lived here a while. Set up a lab in the basement. I had him put away for several months. Then…broke him out. He broke an arm and leg of mine in return. But things went back to nor- what they were before.”

“And then he left.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Tabitha looked away briefly, getting her thoughts together and emotions back in line. Quiet the noise in her head. “Wondered that for a while. I think he got bored.”

Lester hummed a tune, rotating his fork between his fingers. “You weren’t bored.”

“No,” she exhaled along with the smoke. “I was still attached. Now, I’ve had some time to…detach. I’ve recovered, I think.”

“And that’s why ya keep his stuff, is it?” he grinned cruelly. “Can’t stop thinkin’ of ‘im, can ya?”

She bristled. Her free hand clenched so tightly that her knuckles whitened. “I paid my debt. I _overpaid_.”

“Mm-hm. Doesn’t change anything though, does it?”

**_Can’t you see he’s digging?_ **

“What does it matter if I think of him? I’m better off now,” Glass stated suddenly. She lifted her head, eyes narrowing. “You think of your husband, don’t you?”

“Nah. Hardly any.” Lester shook his head. Patently false.

She pursed her lips, doubting that was true. “You think of the Devil.”

“So?” he scoffed. “Your devil’s got hold of your heart, Missy. Ya can’t say that about mine.” Or could ya?

“No one lays hold of my heart,” she snapped. Then she took a drag and corrected her abruptness. “There’s little there to have.”

“He did anyway. Sounds like he wouldn’t’a needed much. Not with you as brittle as eggshells up here-“ he tapped the side of his head twice. Then grinned, laughed a bit. “Slipped himself right in, didn’t he? Nice’n’soft’n’warm, yeah?”

Glass flushed furiously, clenching her fist a wee bit harder.

Lester leaned over a bit, catching eye contact with her. “I’m not your precious Henry, doll.”

She swallowed. “I know.” It sounded choked.

“Do ya?” he picked up the mug and sipped. Her eyes widened slightly, recognizing his point. “So, ya ain’t superimposing me over some asshole, then? ‘Cause, lemme tell ya, Miss – I’m far more dangerous and liable to get bored than ya sweetheart ever was. And I’d be downright insulted – not t’mention _disappointed_ , if all ya liked me for was a replacement."

She shook her head once. “No. That isn’t-“

“Ya sure?” he quirked his brows, eyes widening minutely.

Well, he looked- _No, he doesn’t._ “I’m sure.”

“Good!” he said happily, and set the mug and plate aside. “Pass me a fag, then, Miss,” he winked. “When’s the entertainment due to wake up?”

She seemed stunned, and took a minute to catch up with the change in demeanor and subject. She stood and passed him her cigarette. He eyed it a moment, then figured why the hell not? He could placate her little sharing quirk. Half a smoke, whatever. She lit up a new one for herself, and left him a second cig and her lighter. He hummed a pleased note or two. She moved to take a seat.

He patted the space next to his cot. She stiffened, but sat there instead.

“She should rouse within the hour,” she responded finally.

He flicked the lighter on and she watched carefully. “Ever got burned before, Missy?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve not been caught in a fire, but I’ve been burnt to varying degrees.”

Bullseye hummed. “Betcha like gettin’ burned, don’cha?”

“…yes,” she said softly.

“Well, we’re havin’ fun t’day, aren’t we?” he smiled, all teeth.

She stared at him a moment, looking for an indication that he _didn’t_ mean what that sounded like. Tabitha slid her sleeve up her arm, and reached over carefully until her wrist hovered over the flame. She watched the flame as he moved it in a slow circle, a patch of skin the size of a quarter. Her skin turned pink and rosy. It stung. Her navel burned, heart quickened, eyes dilated.

Bullseye watched her reaction, feeling giddy. “How’s that feel?”

Her skin reddened. Tabitha felt sweat on her forehead, felt the burn in her fingertips though they were nowhere near the flame.

“Feels…decadent.”

She exhaled softly, withholding a moan. She looked at him during the sensation.

He caught the bliss in her expression, the dilation in her eyes, and his face twisted in disgust, suddenly disturbed. He pulled the lighter away, shoved her head. “Not me. Focus. Jesus-“

“Alright,” she nodded quickly, reaching over with her other wrist and not looking at him this time. The cigarette was still burning between her fingers. Bullseye took a drag from his. He hovered the flame under her wrist again. The smell of burnt flesh rose up. Good memories for him.

Sorta good, anyway.

The skin rose in three small bubbles, filling with fluid. Lester focused special attention to the blisters with his lighter, until the skin popped. Tabitha yelped then, hissed in pain, and pulled her hand back. Bullseye grabbed and pulled her hand back to where she’d held it before. She tensed her arm, still wanting to pull it away but not fighting to do so.

He burned through both remaining blisters, and only then let go. Tabitha pressed her other hand tightly against the skin below the wound, knowing she couldn’t touch it directly. She’d dropped her cigarette. She stared at the burn – deep red, with garish yellow splotches. It still felt like the lighter was burning it. One tiny black spot emerged on it, and she imagined if she poked just that with a needle, she’d feel nothing. She moaned softly, hardly even an exhale.

“That’s fucked up,” Lester whistled slowly.

She scowled at him, then looked back at her arm. “It’s perfect.”

His lips stretched in a grin. “Enjoyed that, did ya?”

“Like a sonata.”

He snorted, but the flattery pleased him.

A whimper sounded from the third body – the one they’d forgotten about.

“Sounds like the show’s starting,” Bullseye grinned.

Tabitha nodded. “I’m going to need my wrist reinforced. I’ll bring a bandage and brace, if you could apply it?”

“Sure I could.” 

She nodded and left to retrieve the supplies.

Lester shifted, hardly noticing the stiffness between his legs that usually came to attention at any violence. He put out the butt of his cigarette and lit the second one she left, then stood and walked over to the plaything. The girl was whining and pleading through her gag, clearly seeking help. Lester grabbed her by the ropes across her chest, and shoved her so she sat upright against a wall. Then he crouched, looked in her eyes. She looked back. Tears had fucked up her light mascara, and she quivered in palpable fear.

“Well don'cha just look _exactly_ like the little Miss? Mousier, for sure.” he grinned and breathed smoke at her face, prompting a gag and cough. "Don't you worry, Mousy. We're gonna have a _hell_ of a time."

 

\----- 

 

**_Presently…_ **

Raze grimaced at the state of the kitchen. There was blood _everywhere._ Blood had dripped from the victim from the ‘pantry’ door to the puddle near the counter. Blood was smeared on a hand towel, on the faucet, on the counters and the cupboard doors. An acrid scent curled up, too – he saw the puddle of urine by the stairs to the laundry room.

_Ugh. Gross._

He narrowed his eyes at a plate on the counter, covered by a paper towel that had soaked up yet more blood. He peeled it back by an edge, and it almost fell apart with its saturation. It had been resting on a deep red slice of flesh.

Raze didn’t have to smell it and take note of the high level of iron. He knew from looking what it was. Human liver.

Part of him wasn’t surprised. Part was…almost _grateful,_ or at least satisfied.

It felt like the dog had tracked mud across the kitchen (only this was blood), and the cat had left him a bird or rodent which it wished him to eat. Raze quirked a smile and tilted his head at that image. _PitBullseye. Heh. And Glass is a fuckin’ Siamese._

Before he thought it through, he ran a finger through the blood on the plate and sucked the fluid from his finger. He swished the blood in his mouth, then paused to stare at his hand. _What am I **thinking?**   _His lip curled in disgust and he moved to spit in the sink. He paused again.

He swallowed instead. He stared at the plate – the deep reds, near-blacks, the slick of the outside of the organ, the ripples of the flesh where it’d been cut. Muted, he heard screams emanating from the basement. He tilted his head in that direction, though his eyes remained fixed on the plate. Scent and taste filled his head, clouded his thought.

Thought.

_What’s to stop them from being cattle?_

_…you have a conscience that’s feeling rather violated – you may want to listen._

Raze took a deep, eerily calm breath, and turned away from the counter. He stared at the open pantry door, at the bloody metal wall of the kill room. He walked over until he stood in the entrance, observed the bandages on the floor and the piles of cigarette ash. A couple small chunks of hair, bloody at one end. He could tell where they’d all started. He saw where Tabitha had sat first, where she sat beside Lester. Smelled the remainder of Tabitha’s burnt flesh, and the victim’s salty, fear-acrid sweat and tears.

He turned to look at the basement door. Bloody print on the handle. Tabitha’s. Bloody socked footprints. Lester’s. He looked at the plate again. That was _her._ If Bulls wanted to fuck with him, he’d be more aggressive. Glass preferred passivity and mind-games – less risk, she realistically knew she couldn’t defend herself against lashback. Lester was a daredevil – _heh_ – and didn’t _see_ risk. He was a god, after all, in his own fucked up head.

_You must know your depths by now. If I can glimpse your monster, you see it fully._

“Fuck,” he muttered, snarling at the flesh bitterly. She _saw._ He didn’t have to do _anything_ to hint at it, and she fucking _saw._ How the hell she did that, he’d figure out one day. And then he’d put her up in a room she’d designed _herself,_ and he’d _destroy_ her there.

Worse for her, maybe he’d help her get her head on straight instead. _That_ might kill her by itself.

Screw conscience – he had a  _control issue,_ and she’d just hit it with a goddamn jackhammer.

He dumped the meat in the garbage and rinsed the plate thoroughly. Then he followed the screams downstairs.


End file.
